All Words Have Meaning
by eostby
Summary: A collection of AU stories for the "A Story in a Word Challenge" (/topic/44309/152320524/1/). Rated M just to cover any future installments that might need it. Latest Chapter: A little rainy day fun never hurt anyone.
1. Serenity

**A/N: This is the first of 100 stories, which will almost certainly encompass my largest fanfiction collection by the time it's done. Each story will be inspired by a different word from a foreign language, and those words will be included at the top of each chapter for your convenience. Thank you for reading, and as always, the Potterverse belongs to JK Rowling.**

* * *

 **trygghet** \- (n.) safety and security, with a calm, cozy, peaceful feeling from all uncomfortable or unpleasant things in one's job, home and family _[Swedish]_

If one was asked to describe Luna Lovegood, eventually the word "serene" would pop up. Most attributed the lithe blonde's sometimes spacey nature to the manner in which she grew up, and didn't press very much into understanding why she acted that way. Growing up in the house she had with the family that she did had heavily influenced Luna's mannerisms, but not in the way most would have expected. In fact, it was largely due to her mother that Luna became who she was.

When Luna was 5, her mother began helping her develop rudimentary Occlumency shields. The training wasn't particularly complex, just her mother asking young Luna to "imagine a happy, peaceful place, and explore it in your mind." Once Luna could consistently visualize the place in her mind, she started funneling small bits of magic into specific bits of it, namely a unicorn guardian that she called Charlie. By her ninth birthday, Luna was able to keep out a focused probe from her father entirely, much to the delight of both her parents.

Sadly, the family's joy would be short-lived, as Pandora had her spell crafting accident mere weeks later, and Xeno wasn't nearly as knowledgeable in the defensive mind arts as his wife had been, so Luna was forced to develop her mind alone from then on. And as future Legilimens who would find the need to test Luna would discover, just because she didn't know the proper methods to advance her shields did not mean that they did not advance. They just advanced in a way that most experts in the field would politely term "stranger than normal."

Some of the more nonsensical improvements that were catalogued during the one and only visit the experts were allowed into Luna's head included a purple and yellow striped cat that seemed to almost entirely vanish at will, another cat that flew across the sky trailing rainbows behind it, a door standing by itself in the middle of a forest that didn't open unless you shouted a passphrase at it (and none of the experts could understand why the passphrase was "FOR NARNIA!"), and the addition of a second guardian animal. The latter was discovered while Luna, who had been traveling with the experts astride Charlie, suddenly turned and looked towards what passed for the horizon in her mind. There, racing towards the group with a rider of its own aboard, was a horse with flaming hooves and a fiery mane. In no time at all, the horse and its pale rider arrived to stand near Luna and the experts. Luna smiled, but also showed some puzzlement. When asked why, she answered, "Well, I recognize this noble steed, but I cannot say that I've ever met anyone that resembles the rider. Who are you, miss?"

The young woman spoke a few words in a language that sounded like gibberish to all assembled besides Luna, before saying in English, "My name is Serenity. Do not fear, I am here by invitation." The experts noted the slight similarities between the new girl and Luna, and chalked it up to Serenity being some lingering memory of Pandora Lovegood who had taken up residence in Luna's mind. They would complete their study soon after without much trouble.

Some academic papers were published about Luna's unique mindscape, but few understood how much it all meant to her. For Luna Lovegood, Serenity was her everything. Serenity helped keep her as grounded as she would ever be. She said so publicly, and while her statement was met by a few snickers, it was generally accepted at face value. Though the speculation that Serenity was her mother did give Luna some pause, she and only she knew the truth. For the "gibberish" language that the experts had reported hearing was not gibberish at all, but rather the language of her mother's ancestry, a language Luna had grown quite familiar with after many recent visits to Sweden to learn more about her own heritage. This fact was well known, but none had bothered to go beyond the obvious potential connection. Wizards were rather lazy when it came right down to it, and Luna didn't bother to correct their misconception.

After all, if they didn't know that back in Sweden, a very popular masseuse named Serenity worked at a parlor called "The Crumple-Horned Snorkack" and just so happened to have a thin gold band on her ring finger that matched the one on Luna's, what was the point of spoiling her fun in telling them?


	2. The Event

**A/N: The second of many stories is here. Enjoy! (All disclaimers still apply.)**

* * *

 **desiderium** \- (n.) an ardent desire or longing, particularly for something once had and now missed; a feeling of grief or regret for the absence or loss of something or someone _[Latin]_

It had been exactly 1,373 days, 7 hours, and 14 minutes since the event. Nearly four years of his life had been devoted to figuring out just why it had happened, and what he could do to fix it. He was quite sure that he would be the only one capable of doing anything; after all, "Master of Death" was not just a mere nickname. No, when wizards had given a name to the position, they gave it power. That seemed to be how many things worked in that blasted society: define it, give it status, and watch as that status grew beyond their wildest reckoning. That was how the Dark Lord became so feared that none would utter his own made up name; that was how the office of Minister of Magic got to be such a lofty honor; that was how "The Boy Who Lived" became so bloody famous despite not knowing how he survived when his family did not. All of it because most magicals did not understand the power they wielded.

When magicals said things, the universe responded to them. Words have power, more power than most even realized, and it was his words that had caused the event to happen. Therefore, by his reckoning, it could only be his words that made things right again. It would be the only way he could get her back. He needed her back.

 ** _Four Years Prior, The Burrow_**

"Look, if this is going to work out, you have to really try, you know? You can't just keeping hoping that whatever weird luck you have will keep saving you when things get rough."

"I know. It's not like it should be so difficult, yeah? I defeated the most feared Dark wizard in half a century, I managed to survive 7 years at Hogwarts packed with insane adventures and still managed to find time to graduate from the place, and yet I can't work up the bloody courage to say four simple words to the woman I love. Some fearless hero I am."

"Aw, c'mon Harry. Don't be so hard on yourself. It took Ron ages to finally pull himself together, and now he and Lavender are happier than they've ever been. That reminds me, Ron wants you to swing by sometime soon. Something about helping him set up a trust for his kids, I think."

"Yeah, poor wanker never could figure out how to deal properly with the goblins. You'd think Bill might've taught him something, having worked there and all, but alas. Thanks for listening. Really, you've been a huge help."

"Anytime, Harry. Now, you'll be at the match Saturday won't you? Harpies vs. Puddlemere, big match, lots of people you know."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. You'll have saved me seats in the prime box, won't you, Ginny?"

"Of course, you prat. You're not just the hero of our world, you're the brother I always wanted, and if getting you a cushy seat for the 10 minutes it'll take me to catch the Snitch makes you happy, I'll do it."

"Wait, you have a lot of brothers, Ginny."

"Yes, but you're the brother I _wanted_ , Harry."

 ** _Present Day_**

The drive into London had never been particularly pleasant, but was far easier on him than trying most of the magical methods of transportation, so he did what was necessary. Even if it did mean occasionally dodging Arthur Weasley's well-meaning but misguided efforts to take his car apart and learn exactly how it worked. He remembered exactly what had happened to the last car Arthur had been allowed to tinker with, and would not be allowing the man to touch his prized Viper for all the Galleons in Gringotts. The American import was a bit flashy, but it wasn't like he couldn't afford it. His inheritances assured that.

On days like today, driving in to the Ministry building from his current apartment in Watford, he felt the loneliness more than usual. Before the event, she would have ridden in with him. She would have been telling him all about the inner workings of Magical Law Enforcement, and he would have contributed with what he could about his department. Not that he could say very much, but she didn't mind. She knew that they were called Unspeakables for a reason, so she cherished every detail he was able to provide.

He parked and made his way down to his desk. Papers were scattered upon it, half-scribbled notes here and there, testing out various combinations but so far finding none that worked. A few times during the day, another Unspeakable would come in, he'd offer them a look at his work, and they'd suggest some other avenue or theory. All were welcomed, though none proved fruitful that day. Most days went similarly. A picture of her hovered over his desk, a small beacon of hope that he desperately needed.

Back to Watford he drove, making sure to be careful of the foot traffic headed over to Vicarage Road. The last thing he needed right then was to draw undue attention to himself, lest any hooligan think him an easy mark and have to be forcibly proven wrong. He made it inside his apartment without incident, and sat heavily on the couch in front of the telly, already tuned to Watford's pre-match broadcast and a hot meal prepared for him on an end table. The apartment's house elf, Rook, was also seated and ready for the match. (The last owner of the apartment had been a muggleborn and an avid supporter of the club, and it was easier to go along with Rook than try and convert him to another side.)

Once the postmatch recap had been completed (Watford had won 2-nil), Rook turned off the telly and went to bed. A similar thought crossed his mind, but as he lay staring at the ceiling, he wondered how he could possibly attempt sleep with the raucous celebrations still going on outside.

 ** _Approximately 1400 Days Prior, Crawley_**

"I don't see why you haven't just done it already, Harry. It would really ease your mind. And hers."

"I want to, I really do. I'm just trying to come up with the right time and place to do it. We're both so busy, and I just want to make it special."

"Noble as ever. You know that however you ask her, she'll probably love it regardless, don't you?"

"I'm sure she will, but I just don't want to disappoint her and undersell the whole thing somehow. Just kneeling down in the middle of the street is great and all, but she deserves more than that."

"Harry, take it from someone who's been proposed to: the location doesn't matter anywhere near as much as the person proposing. My husband proposed to me at the site of our first date, and that was lovely. When Justin proposed to Hermione, he did so at exactly the stroke of midnight on New Year's in the shadow of Big Ben, and she snogged the life out of him for it. It doesn't have to be the most perfect proposal in history, as long as it means something special to the two of you."

"Thanks Mrs. Granger. I've kinda been overthinking it a bit, I guess."

"It's only natural, Harry. I wish you both the best of luck."

 ** _Present Day_**

Finally, it seemed as if things were beginning to click. He had just been looking at the problem from the wrong angle the entire time. He didn't need to physically send himself back in time; in fact, a quick message would probably be enough, and that made things much easier. It would still take a few more days to make sure that the message would be perfect, and he wouldn't get to say a whole lot, but for the first time in 1,375 days, a smile crossed his face. Soon, he thought, this will all be over.

"First test message: Proof of Concept" suddenly blinked into his brain. His smile got ever so slightly wider.

 ** _1,382 Days Ago (Approximately one week prior to the event), Sweden_**

"You know, Harry, I'm quite flattered you came to me for advice on this matter."

"You're a very good friend of mine. Why wouldn't I come to you for advice?"

"Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of reasons, but I'm glad you chose not to think of them either. Moving right along, you said in your letter that you'd figured out the date, but not the location. Are you considering Sweden?"

"Not really. But you're here, so I figured I might as well make the trip just in case. Besides Sweden, do you have any ideas?"

"Let me think. I know that many people have proposed at famous landmarks. Many others have proposed at locations of prior meetings, or other locations of some great importance. However, something tells me that you want to propose somewhere a bit different than that, Harry."

"Did the Nargles tell you that, Luna?"

"Oh no, Harry, it couldn't have been the Nargles. They aren't at all interested in the mating displays of humans, you see. But beyond that, you've always tried to be more low-key whenever possible, and I think that trying to propose somewhere out in public would be all wrong for you. What you need is somewhere secluded, somewhere that only a few people might even consider. Does that help?"

"Actually, yes, I think it does. Thanks, Luna. Say hi to Serenity for me."

"I will. Good luck, Harry Potter."

 ** _Present Day_**

"Your calculations seems to be correct, and your proof of concept test undeniably worked. I was able to replicate your findings quite easily, so as long as you believe you have the correct time calculated, I hereby approve your request to move this project forward, and I wish you luck in completing it." The head Unspeakable signed the necessary paperwork and took it with him. Now, finally, it was time. 1,377 days of heartache had come to this. He pointed his wand to his temple, thought the incantation, and prepared the message that would likely change his life.

 ** _1,377 Days Ago (The Event)_**

One last time, Harry made sure the ring box was in his pocket. He had meticulously planned a timeline for how the evening was to go, and so far everything had gone according to plan. All that was left after this quick shopping stop was dinner, and then a moonlit proposal on one of the mountains near Hogwarts. She came out of the dressing room wearing a beautiful yellow dress, which she modeled much to his delight. At that moment, Harry Potter was as happy as he had ever been. And then came the question that would trigger what for the next 1,377 days he would think of as "the event."

"You know, Hannah told me that she had a dress like this once. Do you think she'd look prettier in it than me, Harry?"

As he was about to answer, he suddenly heard his own voice in his mind. "You love her. She has feelings, too. Spare them now!" Not really understanding what had just happened, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"No one could look prettier than you do right now, Susan."

Susan turned, squealed in delight, and very passionately kissed her boyfriend for providing just the answer she was looking for. She knew it was a bit shallow to fish for a compliment right then, but it wasn't like he was going to do something stupid like say "She'd probably look fat in it too." That, after all, would cause a whole big event, since she would probably never forgive him for such an insult.

Good thing her Harry wasn't that dumb.

 ** _Present Day_**

Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter were ready to celebrate the biggest event in their lives: becoming parents for the first time. All was well.


	3. Eruption

**A/N: The usual disclaimers still apply; as always, I don't own the Potterverse. The idea of being able to focus memories into something you can use is lovingly borrowed from the great story Searching for the Power** **by GinnyMyLove, which you can find elsewhere on this site. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **kowhekowheko** \- (v.) (of a fire) to die out and then blaze up again; to burst into flames when seemingly not burning [ _Maori_ ]

Normally, the fiery-tempered folks found their way to Gryffindor. "Gryffindors charge forward," after all, was their motto for a reason, and it wasn't entirely because they were said to be the bravest of all those at Hogwarts. So one would be forgiven for thinking that if a pair of twins were Sorted and split up, the one with the fiery temper would probably find themselves in red and gold. For most twins, this would probably be true. The Patil twins were not most twins.

Padma found herself sorted into Ravenclaw, which seemed to fit right in with her desires to know as much as possible about the world. However, she learned very quickly that many in her house, despite possessing a similar thirst for knowledge, oftentimes couldn't care less about how the world around them felt. In turn, those same people learned very quickly that when Padma Patil got mad, she made volcanoes look chilled by comparison.

Terry Boot was the first of her new housemates to discover the ferocity of Padma's temper firsthand. What had started as a simple disagreement over the best way to learn mathematics (since clearly Hogwarts had no interest in the Muggle discipline beyond the few parts that could apply to their core classes) turned rather ugly when Terry implied that "Indian math" wasn't nearly as good as "English math."

"EXCUSE ME?" shouted Padma. "WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL MAKES YOU THINK THAT, TERRY? OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THAT INDIA USED TO BE AN ENGLISH TERRITORY, SO ANY PROBLEMS WITH OUR MATH IS YOUR ANCESTORS' FAULT, YOU INSENSITIVE JERK!" She then slapped him round the face until he finally relented. His bruises persisted into the next day, however.

For a period of two full months after that, Padma did not speak to Terry unless required to in class. Every time he tried to make conversation, a fiery glare was directed his way, and he quickly shut up. Eventually, Padma dropped a highly regarded book on math in his lap, and sat down to discuss it with him. They had no further problems after that.

Two years later, Michael Corner found himself on the wrong end of Padma's temper while on their first (and last) date in Hogsmeade. An older Ravenclaw had advised Michael that Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop was an excellent location for a date. The fact that said Ravenclaw had not looked up from his book when offering the tip, nor had he even bothered to put any real inflection in his voice, completely went past Michael.

So it was that the pair entered the tea shop that Saturday at 11am. Michael led Padma to a table, while she gave the interior a once over. It wasn't too bad, actually, though she'd heard disturbing things about what the place looked like around Valentine's Day. They talked, some food was ordered, served, and eaten, and everything seemed to be going just fine. Right up until the bill arrived.

"Don't worry, Pad, I'll get it." Looking down at his money pouch, Michael failed to notice that his date was giving him a rather strange look.

"It's fine, Michael, I can pay for myself." He was still fiddling with his bag, blissfully unaware that Padma's mildly disgruntled expression was growing more furious by the second.

"Nah, really, my treat. What kind of poor date would I be if I made you pay?" The couple at the booth behind Padma, who had formerly been cuddling contently, took notice of the slowly rising magical glow from the obviously angry girl next to them and carefully moved to the other side of their booth, getting as far away as they could without attracting undue attention.

"MICHAEL. I can PAY for myself." As with many other things, the emphasis in that statement was completely lost on Michael. Having finally found the proper coinage for their full bill, Michael placed it on the table and reached back for his cloak. Doing so probably spared him a visit to Madam Pomfrey, as a boil hex aimed for his head narrowly missed.

"DID YOU LISTEN TO A SINGLE WORD I SAID, YOU POMPOUS ASS?" Parma screamed, her wand pointed squarely at the space Michael's head had just vacated. "NO, YOU DIDN'T, BECAUSE IN YOUR HASTE TO BE THE 'PERFECT GENTLEMAN', YOU COMPLETELY IGNORED THE LADY YOU BROUGHT WITH YOU! GOOD BYE, MICHAEL!" Padma tossed a pair of Galleons on the table as she stormed off, determined to enjoy the rest of her Hogsmeade trip without Michael Corner. That particular argument would be the catalyst for a pair of common room shouting matches (neither one surpassing .25 on the Granger-Weasley Scale, but reaching volumes rarely heard in the Ravenclaw tower nonetheless), multiple handprints on Michael's face over the next month, and one very awkward encounter for Michael the next time he was in Hogsmeade and found Padma strolling the main street hand in hand with Terry Boot. Though she said she was completely over the incident a couple of months later, there were still times that Michael looked up and saw daggers being stared at him for two years following.

It wasn't until Padma found herself growing closer to Harry Potter that she finally found someone capable of quelling her temper. And the most impressive part was that he could often halt her in her tracks with just a single look. While teaching himself Occlumency to make up for the "instruction" he'd received from Professor Snape, Harry discovered how to use his memories and emotions to channel his thoughts into his eyes. While the technique was meant to be more of a training tool, Harry discovered it had some practical uses in quieting his girlfriend as well. Whenever it looked like Mount Padma was getting ready to erupt, Harry brought up memories of a particularly pleasant encounter the two of them had shared, and focused them directly into Padma's thoughts. If it didn't completely derail her anger (while also igniting another emotion entirely), it was usually good enough to calm her down some and allow the matter to be discussed.

That technique served Harry Potter very well over the rest of his life. Padma Potter found that she didn't mind the technique much, either. It just gave her a different way to channel her passion, and the pair became quite satisfied with the benefits from it as a result.


	4. Realization

**A/N: Same disclaimers as always.**

* * *

 **viraha** \- (n.) the realization of love through separation _[hindi]_

He met her on his first train ride to Hogwarts. She seemed nice, didn't ask questions about his scar like most of the rest, and just generally treated him like any other person. He loved it. They talked about many things; how their lives were so different, he growing up with Muggles, her living in a manor house, and their shared excitement to be going off to Hogwarts. They promised to stay friends, regardless of what houses they might end up in. Both suspected that they wouldn't go into the same house; they were just two very different people. And so it was: he became a Gryffindor, she a Hufflepuff.

That first year, they made time to get together; mostly at meal times, but occasionally she could convince him to bring his friends to the library so they could all study together. Second year, they got together less frequently, partially because her house blamed him for the petrifactions, partially because she was afraid to go anywhere with anyone during that time. Third year, they were busier than before due to classes, and with him not allowed in Hogsmeade, she barely saw him at all. It was in fourth year that they fell entirely out of contact, and when her housemate was killed at the end of the year, she couldn't make time for him through her own grief and the grief of Hufflepuff. It was, in retrospect, one of her greatest regrets.

For the first time she could remember, she didn't even try and send him an owl during the summer. While she hadn't been as close to Cedric as many others, she still thought of him as an older brother. All of the Puffs took his loss hard, so it just felt natural for her to grieve with them, completely forgetting that Harry had watched him die, and might just appreciate some support from her, or anyone else, right then.

She watched him during fifth year. He seemed colder to everyone, and the influence of the Ministry wasn't helping. That awful toad was insistent on making Harry's year hell, and nothing could be done about it, not even by her aunt. Susan was glad that she could join up with Harry's Defense group, as she needed someone at this school who knew what they were talking about to help her understand the subject. At year's end, the Battle in the Department of Mysteries was all anyone could talk about, though Susan was disinclined to believe some of the wilder stories out there. She tried to get close enough to talk to him about it, but she saw the despair and heartbreak in his ever-expressive eyes, and just ran away in tears before she could even speak to him.

It was that following summer that she met the Dark Lord face to face, barely able to escape her home as he murdered her aunt, the last blood relative she had left in the world. While staying with her friend Hannah, she realized that now, she probably understood more about Harry's world than most others ever would. Even thinking of Harry brought warm thoughts to her, memories back when they were close friends, promising that no house rivalry would keep them apart. Someone, she realized, that she needed to be near more than ever. She needed a friend, she needed a protector, she needed…Harry. She'd had a very good friend, and in the intervening years she'd worked very hard to push him away, she realized. She resolved to get back her friend this year, come hell or high water.

Of course, Harry being Harry, her task wasn't going to be easy. Every time she thought she had a foolproof excuse to talk to Harry about something (anything!), he would find a way to not talk to her. Many of the times, he was being called off for a meeting with a Professor. Some of the times, his friends would eye her suspiciously, and usher her away from him. Only once did he directly say no to her, claiming a very bad headache right before the Yule. She believed him. Rather, she believed that the Harry she once knew wouldn't put her off without a very good reason. On the night the Death Eaters invaded the castle, Susan saw the anguish written on Harry's face before she even saw where the Headmaster landed, and knew what had happened. Torn between her friends and going to him, she was enveloped in a hug by many of her housemates, yet again leaving Harry so close, yet so far from her. She promised herself, on the train ride back to London, that she would not leave Harry alone again.

She and Hannah talked late into the night after arriving home from sixth year. It was during that conversation that she finally admitted, to herself and to Hannah, that she felt something more than just friendship for Harry. She had been far too close (and too young) first year to even think about it, but as she was around him less and less, she missed him more and more. The few moments she had been able to have even a little bit of time with him during fifth and sixth year had very nearly overwhelmed her. Something about him drew her in, the rush inside of her when he was near better than even her most favorite sweets. She wanted to reconnect in the worst way, and only hoped he felt something similar for her; she was afraid she couldn't accept anything less without shattering.

Seventh year began, and when the tables were sat for the Sorting Feast, there was no sign of him or his best friends at the Gryffindor table. That night, Susan wept into her pillow for hours, despairing that she might have missed her chance to tell him she loved him. In the depths of her despair, though, she found a nugget of strength: Harry wasn't gone, he would come back when the time was right. She had seen him do it before. When Hogwarts needed Harry Potter, he didn't back down, even when he very easily could have. He would be back, and when he was, she would be ready. That thought carried Susan through that year, giving her a reason to improve her spell casting and Defense training. When Harry returned, it would likely be for a fight. And she would be ready.

As Susan has predicted, battle came to Hogwarts. And with it came Harry Potter, a bit more ragged than she remembered, but still ready to fight for what he believed to be right. As the group gathered in the Room of Requirement prepared for the upcoming fight, she pulled him aside for a brief moment and laid her soul bare to him. He stood in shock for a moment, and in that moment her heart fluttered, on the verge of breaking, as she was afraid that she had said too much and scared him away.

He wrapped her into a big hug. "I've been waiting for you to say that. I need to talk to you, but I have to do this right now. When this is all over, come find me. I love you." With that, and a quick kiss, he dashed off.

Left in a daze momentarily, then sporting a big goofy grin, she followed him into the fray, feeling better than she had in years.


	5. Empty

**A/N: The usual disclaimers apply. We don't really have a clear picture of Hogwarts' architecture, so if the spot described near the end is physically impossible to occur in canon, my apologies. Be warned, this one's gonna be a bit sadder than the last few by necessity.**

* * *

 **dor** \- (n.) a deep and nostalgic feeling of sadness, agony and emptiness experienced upon intensely missing, longing, and yearning for something or someone _[romanian]_

Had it really been so long? It felt as though it had happened just yesterday, but here in front of her was definitive proof that it had been almost 25 years since that day. Since the last time she had seen her best friend alive. She remembered it vividly. How could she not; it was both the day the world changed forever, and the day her world ended. The Battle at Hogwarts.

For most of their time at Hogwarts, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were inseparable. Lavender was the one who had to comfort Parvati their first night when she confessed she'd never slept in a room without her sister before. Parvati was likewise there for Lavender when the cute boy from Hufflepuff broke her heart in 3rd year. The two girls often found comfort in each other, with Parvati's sister off in Ravenclaw and their roommate Hermione as likely to lecture them on their bad choices as to try and offer comfort. As the world around them grew darker and more dangerous, they found refuge together in the world of shopping and fashion. A plan to open their own boutique was discussed, and had gotten a bit of planning behind it, but had to be set aside in their seventh year when such things paled in comparison to the very real danger they now faced simple by being at school. Right before the final battle, Lavender had made an offhand comment that they could finally get back to that plan if things went well.

In amongst the many battles on that day, Parvati found herself putting down Death Eaters while stepping over the fallen, many of whom she had known in her seven years of schooling. Here, a torn cloak with the Ravenclaw symbol on it. There, a half-broken mask covering someone she recognized as having been an older Slytherin. And from everywhere around, the scent of blood filled the air. She hated every minute of it, but did what she had to to stay alive. When the Dark Lord called for a brief respite, she shivered at his voice, but silently thanked him for allowing a break that she desperately needed.

She entered the Great Hall to see it transformed into a room that was part morgue, part command base. The dead and dying were laid to one side of the room, those mostly in charge of the fight huddled in another corner. Somewhere in between, she spotted Padma and Lavender sitting together at a table, both staring ahead dully, trying to come to grips with what they had seen. Grateful to see the two people she cared about most sitting together, she sat next to them, all three resting their heads together in some measure of relief to see each other and still be alive.

That respite was followed by the horrific sight of what appeared to be Harry Potter dead at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, at the feet of the Dark Lord. What had looked grim suddenly turned brighter when cheers of defiance rose, and the battle rejoined, filtering back towards the Great Hall. Parvati thought she felt someone push past her, but saw no one, even as a spell went shooting by. It wasn't until she reached the Great Hall again that she realized that Harry Potter was alive, as he shrugged off his Invisibility Cloak and faced off one last time with the Dark Lord. As the sun rose over the mountains, the schoolboy bested his great rival once and for all, and cheers went up throughout the old castle. Parvati found Padma in the commotion, and the sisters hugged tightly, exultant in victory.

As the celebrants spread out about the castle, Padma and Parvati came upon a gruesome sight. At the foot of the grand staircase, covered in blood and seated next to a werewolf with its neck obviously broken, was Lavender, trying and failing to keep her intestines inside a giant tear across her stomach. Padma rushed off to find Madam Pomfrey, while Parvati held Lavender's hand, offering reassurances and promises that Padma would return soon and everything would be fine. As her friend lost progressively more blood, and her already pale skin grew moreso, Parvati's voice trailed off, no longer able to hide the truth from herself.

"Vati," murmured Lavender quietly. "Vati, it'll be OK. We won, didn't we? You can still open the shop, just like we wanted. Don't be sad, Vati. Live. Live for me, OK? Live for me, Vati."

Parvati nodded, not trusting herself to speak as the tears poured down her face. Lavender managed a brief smile and a last squeeze of Parvati's hand before slumping against the stairs. Parvati kept holding her friend's hand, tears still flowing freely. Padma and Pomfrey arrived a few minutes later, and only then did Parvati let go of Lavender's hand. A quick diagnostic spell from the nurse confirmed what she had already known.

All of those who had fought and died at the castle were buried and mourned over the next week. Many had family plots; a few who didn't were buried on the castle grounds, as the greatest remaining honor they could be given, and as a reminder of the cost of the peace now enjoyed in magical Britain. Lavender was one of the latter; she was laid to rest in a spot with an unobstructed view of both Gryffindor Tower and the Black Lake. It was to this spot which Parvati returned faithfully every year, always with a freshly picked flower in honor of her best friend. Though she had done as Lavender has asked and continued to live, even opening up their boutique in Diagon Alley, she always felt the same feeling of emptiness when she came to this spot, as if a part of her had been torn away on that day and could not be replaced. Would never be replaced.

She laid the newest flower near the stone, as she had 24 times before. She traced her name, looking as new as the day the stone had been cut. A kiss, onto her fingers and then touched to the stone. A whispered goodbye, and then Parvati left the grounds, another year's ritual complete. A horrible, sadly necessary, ritual.


	6. Decadence

**A/N: For a story whose main character I knew almost immediately, this one took much longer than I'd hoped to reach some sort of conclusion. And even then, expect this story thread to get revisited at some future date, as I'm kinda leaving you on a cliff. Usual disclaimers apply, and in addition, I've borrowed a small plot idea (the chauffeur) from Jeconais' This Means War. Not exactly the same, but close enough that if you've read that story, you'd notice the similarity.**

* * *

 **joie de vivre** \- (phr.) "joy of living" - a feeling of happiness and excitement about life, and the carefree enjoyment, ebullience and zest of living it _[french]_

Gabrielle Delacour knew how to live the good life. She considered herself a connoisseur of the finer things, and being French she of course knew what qualified things as "fine." She knew the best place to get the best champagne, where to find the sweetest chocolate, and what beaches were best for attracting attention. Of course, she also knew some of the places to be and be seen outside of her native France, but when one lived in the cultural center of the world, one rarely needed to leave. However, there were only so many opportunities a model could have in France, so she did have to venture away every now and again.

One of those occasional ventures led her to London. There wasn't much in the city that she really enjoyed, but it gave her a chance to see a good friend of hers, and she never missed a chance to stop in on Harry. And his cooking was heavenly, much better than any other place in London that she had tried. Of course, it would be rude to show up unannounced, so she made sure to call him before her plane left the airport. While she could have just Apparated over to England, the brief plane ride gave her a chance to relax and catch a quick nap.

As she walked into the main terminal, she noticed a dapper-looking gentleman holding a sign reading "G. Delacour." She didn't recognize the man, but assumed that he was there to chauffeur her to Harry's house. The man led her outside to a dark green Jaguar and opened the door for her. Once she was comfortable, they began driving towards central London.

"I was unaware that Harry had a professional chauffeur, Mr…" began Gabrielle.

"Oh, Harry doesn't actually employ a driver, Miss Delacour," said the driver. "We're just old friends from Hogwarts, and he wanted to be sure you got to see the sights rather than boring old magical travel. Too quick, that is. My name's Dean, Dean Thomas."

Her curiosity sated, Gabrielle sat back and watched the world go by as Dean pointed out a few particular sights of interest along their route. In what felt like no time at all, the Jag pulled up outside the recently refurbished Grimmauld Place. The house seemed much brighter than the last time Gabrielle had visited. Dean performed the expected courtesies, and Gabrielle slipped him a pair of 50 pound notes despite his protests that he was simply doing Harry a favor. As the Jaguar eased away from the area, Gabrielle noticed that it wasn't just number 12 that looked brighter than before; the whole neighborhood appeared to have gotten a refresher.

The door was answered only a moment after she rang the bell, and not by the house elf she had been expecting to see, either. Harry himself pulled back the door, and warmly welcomed Gabrielle into an embrace in the foyer. As he took her light jacket to the coat closet, she looked around and noticed that the house seemed much more open than she last recalled. In fact, it almost seemed as though the front hall went right into the adjoining…

"I see you've noticed my 'neighborhood revitalization project' got a bit bigger and more personal than I might have said in my letters," mused a returning Harry. "I promise you answers, but only after we enjoy the wonderful roast I've prepared. I guarantee you'll love it."

As he led her to the dining area, she could also smell the wonderful smell of freshly baked bread, in addition to something fruity that she couldn't quite identify. Harry had found an excellent French wine to pair with their meal, one that complemented the flavors nicely. It wasn't until he brought out a large bowl and some brandy for dessert that she was able to identify the Cherries Jubilee she had smelled earlier. Where Harry had learned how to cook like a Cordon Bleu chef she didn't know, but she was thankful every time she came that he had learned, saving her from other English cuisine that just didn't measure up.

As the last of the cherries were consumed, and the dishes cleared away by house elves, Harry took Gabrielle on a walk through the back gardens. She hadn't been to this part of the house in any prior visit, so she had no comparison, but this area too seemed much bigger than the property of just one house. Harry had promised her answers before dinner, and she was certainly going to get them now, whether he wanted to give them or not!

"It seems I've stalled for as long as I can," said a smiling Harry. "Well, Gabi, I was planning to invite you to come around soon anyway, so this just saved me the need of finding a reason to do so. You see, I might have bought out the entire neighborhood to expand my holdings and give myself and the future Mrs. Potter a wonderful place to live, as well as have the opportunity to invite those close to me to move in nearby if they so desired. Many of them did take me up on the offer, though I'm still missing a few important folks. Namely, one gorgeous French model who always seems to visit and make excuses to stay, but then scurries back home to her own piece of paradise."

Gabrielle blushed, knowing exactly who Harry was referring to. "Mon ami, you know that I still do most of my work on the continent. I cannot just stay here forever; it simply would not provide enough work, and I could not impose on you that way."

Harry smirked at her, which only caused the blushing to intensify. "And yet you take lower paying jobs just to have a reason to come see me a couple of times a year, don't you? That's why I had to start building my own piece of paradise, Gabi. Anything less than that wouldn't be enough to drag you across the Channel permanently. Look around you. I've put more hours and days into making this garden perfect than I'd like to remember, but each of them was worth it. In fact, I'll probably still be putting in some more before it's really done. Not today, but someday soon, I'm going to be making you an offer that you can't refuse, and you're going to come here permanently. And when I do, this place will be perfect, and you'll love every minute of being here. But only when it's ready, not a second before. Does that satisfy your curiosity for now?"

Gabrielle took a moment to observe the surrounding garden, and while she couldn't see any imperfections with it, if Harry insisted they were there, she believed him. While his words held much meaning, she knew she wouldn't be getting any more out of him if he wasn't ready to tell her yet. "As you wish, Harry. I am quite curious about this 'offer I cannot refuse', but I am satisfied for the time being. I have already made accommodations for tonight, but I expect I'll be back here soon enough regardless."


	7. Sentiment

**A/N: Usual disclaimers apply. This one's a bit shorter than the rest, but don't let that deter you from reading it anyway.**

* * *

 **habseligkeiten** \- (n.) few, paltry belongings one finds special, whose values evolve from personal meanings and from happiness and sentiment of having these certain objects _[german]_

Childhood is generally a time of happiness, where one begins to find who they are, how they fit into the world, and how the world itself works. Even as humans adjust and grow, they still come back to the little things that shaped who they are. It could be a favored toy, a favored book, a favored place to sit and watch the world go by. While other things are cast aside, these few remain, in defiance of the ever-changing world.

For Hermione Granger, it was her well-used copy of the Oxford English Dictionary. The very first book she had ever tried to read, and eventually the first one she read cover to cover. These many years later, the book had needed a rebinding, as well as a couple of strong charms to ensure the pages wouldn't get any more damaged. Though new editions came out with some frequency, Hermione kept this first book separate from the others, less as a reference, and more to remind her of where she started. Without this book, Hermione Granger would be a totally different person.

For Neville Longbottom, it was an old trowel. It had a couple of charms on it, mostly to keep the tool from rusting or falling into serious disrepair, but was other wise unspectacular to most. In fact, it was not even one Neville used much anymore, as he had tested and perfected some of his own specifically to deal with magical plants. However, it held a place of pride behind Neville's desk, because it was the first one he had ever held, and the only one that the Longbottom family had documented proof that he and his father had used together. That wizarding photograph sat next to the trowel, and Neville often looked to it when he had a tough decision to make. For as much as he wished that he had been able to talk with his father when growing up outside of St Mungo's, he knew that with his father's influence, Neville Longbottom would have been an Auror, like his father before him, instead of Neville Longbottom, proud owner of the most exotic and successful greenhouse in Britain.

For Harry Potter, there was very little from his time in the Dursley household that he wished to hold onto. When Number 4 went on the market, Harry bought the house, had it dismantled, and sold off the land for someone else to develop. No one else would live in that building, and no one except those closest to Harry would get to see what one piece of it he salvaged for himself. From inside the cupboard under the stairs, there was one piece of wood that a young Harry had taken a dull knife to and carved "Harry's Room." It was the only bit of Number 4 that he had not personally witnessed the destruction of, and it would forever serve as his reminder of the consequences of letting evil grow too powerful in the world. He would strongly prefer to live in a world where such a thing had not been necessary, but of all people, Harry Potter knew the danger of allowing the innocent to be forgotten.


	8. Home

**A/N: I don't own the Potterverse, JK does. I just play around in the sandbox she built for us.**

* * *

 **heimat** \- (n.) a place that you can call "home" - includes sense of belongingness, acceptance, safety, and connection to the homeland _[german]_

There were many houses across Great Britain, but this one was hers. It was different. Here, she belonged. Here, she felt like a real person, with real ideas, real feelings, not just a sideshow attraction to be stared at and ridiculed. It could never truly replace the home she had lost during the war, but she had put a lot of time and effort into making it something she loved, and it showed in every facet of the house. There were no perfect right angles to be found in this house; everything about it was just slightly off, but not so much that most realized it was even designed that way. That was a nod to her tormentors, who believed there to be something very off with her. She delighted in tweaking their noses in that subtle manner; not that any of them would dare to come inside her home, nor would they be invited in should they brave the visit.

Thanks to her family, she could easily afford to build her dream home. While the war had taken them away much as it had her home, she had found a loving group of friends during her years at Hogwarts, and they had helped her move on from the darkness in her past. It was said that the houses had not been so united as they were by her graduation since the time of her grandparents, and not since the founding of the school had the greatest of rivals, Gryffindor and Slytherin, been on such friendly terms. She was a large part of that; she, and her "study group", who in seven years did much more together than merely study the subjects taught at Hogwarts School.

Though she had at times entertained leaving the Isles all together, and finding a new place to build a new life, she felt as though she was tied to the land. Not literally, of course, and not bound by magic in some way, but instead as though she was one with Britain itself. Building her home solidified her ties; preparing to have a real family here with her girlfriend was just the next logical step in that process.

Of course, she had taken the time to make sure her friends saw things the way she did. Ron and Tracey, the Golden Couple that had finally reunited Gryffindor and Slytherin, were ecstatic for her. Cho, her longtime rival and confidant, was honored to have been told before the event, and promised to help with the nuptials however she could. Hermione, the one who knew her best, just gave her a big hug. Neville and Ginny remarked on how the pair just seemed perfect for each other, as they themselves had been told many a time. Terry, who'd introduced them in the first place, humbly asked that he be given all the credit for making it happen, and received a smack in the shoulder for his troubles. Susan and Hannah offered up their coffee shop as a place to come celebrate afterwards, and promised to have treacle tart ready for both of them. All that was left was to go tell the one herself.

She Apparated over to the Rookery, a very homey building in its own right. It had definitely seen better days, but Luna had done a good job in keeping it together, as much as any one witch could. She only hoped that the offer she was about to make would be enough to convince her that it was time to let the old house go.

Inside, Luna sat, idly sipping a cup of tea and wondering why her girlfriend was so late. "Finally," she thought, as a knock came at the door. "I was beginning to wonder if Blackbird had forgotten completely." While the rest of the world knew her girlfriend by a different name, Luna had insisted on calling her Blackbird for a week after she decided to dye red streaks in her jet black hair, and the pet name had persisted to the present day, though it had mostly faded behind closed doors.

She opened the door, and immediately threw her hands over her mouth in surprise. There, on her doorstep, kneeling while offering up a beautiful ring, was her Blackbird: Harriet Lily Potter. As with many conversations between the two, no words were actually spoken. None were needed. Luna carefully extended her hand, and the ring slid perfectly into place. She helped Harri to her feet, and fell into a warm, loving embrace.

"I'll ask about the house later," thought Harri.


	9. Tears

**A/N:** **While I have mostly left canon unchanged for this one, it doesn't stay that way throughout. And while I have named no names, you should be able to pick out most of the particulars here. Apologies if some of the allusions are a bit unclear, but I felt it necessary for the flow of the action. As always, even when borrowing straight from the books, I don't own the Potterverse.**

* * *

 **shinobi naku** \- (v.) to shed silent tears so no one will know you are crying; lit. "ninja/stealth cry" _[japanese]_

She had learned much at Hogwarts. One thing that hadn't been part of the curriculum that she had learned anyway was how to stay perfectly silent with tears streaming down her face. Anyone could Silencio themselves in a pinch, but she had gone far beyond the limitations of that spell. It was very difficult to cast when one's eyes blurred behind tears, after all.

She hadn't always been able to stay this silent, of course. But one when almost gets killed because one cries too loudly and draws a troll to herself, one makes silence a priority. When one has a walking heartache for a best friend, one has plenty of chances to practice her crying technique. When said heartache's other best friend has a nasty penchant for saying the wrong thing at the right time, the chances increase exponentially.

She keeps her hair long, not because she prefers the style, but because it provides a convenient shield to hide behind when a fresh rain of tears springs forth. The one thing her hair shield doesn't block, unfortunately, is the taunts. She hears them, of course, and they always seem to hit when she's at her most vulnerable, separated from her friends. More practice.

As third year draws to a close, she gets less practice. Things seem to be turning ever so slightly favorable. She barely even sniffles when her best friend sees his chance at a loving family snuffed out by a coward racing to some twisted kind of freedom. Soon, she thinks, all this practice will be for naught. How wrong she was.

Mere months after thinking she wouldn't need to refine her technique, her sessions go into overdrive. Some of it, she reasons, is just the rush of exposure to the rest of the magical world. Some comes from the murderous glares shot her way by a few ill-mannered visitors who don't believe she should be defiling these hallowed halls. But most, as per usual, comes from general unfairness at her best friend's newest plight, and is intensified when it becomes a twofold plight. The tournament on its own was bad enough; no amount of "safety measures" can prepare a young boy for trials that once proved lethal to older and wiser men and women. But then jealousy reared its ugly head, and she was caught between her boys with no easy answer to be found. She chose him, heartache and all, because he needed her more. Eventual reconciliation, but his forgiveness did not begat her forgetfulness. Another wave for his earnest, hopeful look, happy to be as close to whole as he had ever been again.

Dragons. Merpeople. Charms, beasts, riddles, the Dark Lord reborn, his follower unmasked only after nearly finishing what his Master could not. Rather than run dry of tears, as she had expected, she instead found what had been holding her back before. Perfect, painful silence.

She spent her first full day home from the castle putting her newfound talent to work. She feigned exhaustion and was believed. Her forced quiet burned deep, brought many crying fits that threatened to overwhelm her throughly practiced technique, but all were squelched in time, so as not to arouse suspicion. One happy cry when the badge arrived. A much longer, much sadder one when she found who had the other. That one. Again. Always him. Always favored, even though he never saw it.

A much rougher year followed. How could it not? That horrid toad woman, her useless book and policies, designed entirely to keep him down. In mid-cry, a plan formed in her mind. They fought back. She saw the light burning in his eyes, and was overcome by awe. She dared hope. And then that sneak ruined it all. He chained away the light, protecting himself in the face of the utter unfairness that was the Ministry battle. She grieved for what he had lost, as she was sure he had never been able to do for himself. She grieved for that as well.

That damned book! The one time he took his studies seriously, he turned away from her to do it! She raged, she fumed, and only when she was finally vindicated did she realize that she had been wrong about him even as she had been right about the book. And now, he had been entranced by her. She couldn't imagine what the two of them talked about; they didn't have nearly as much in common as she and he. Finally getting her own bitter taste of the unfairness surrounding his life pushed her harder, through many a jag, some rougher than others.

The mission. The greatest wizard of the modern era had given him a mission, and almost none of the pieces necessary to complete it. Through his luck and her brains, they made some headway, moreso when their third finally had enough and went home. She cried in relief that night, but had forgotten what had become almost second nature to her, and he heard. He saw. And he asked how long she had been holding back. He listened. And bit by bit, he dragged all of it out of her. She cried again as he held her, not giving any thought to staying quiet.

That moment of catharsis was enough for the both of them. Something inside them both had snapped, and would not be fixed. When he completed the job that all of England had been counting on him for, he took her hand, and left them all behind. Those who wanted to come find them, not for the selfish desires of their slowly rebuilding government, but for their own reasons, found them happier, and very unwilling to return. There would be no more crying, quiet or otherwise.


	10. Possession

**A/N: The usual disclaimers apply, but with an addition for this chapter in particular: I do not own any people or intellectual property associated with World Wrestling Entertainment that you might see herein. I'm just a fan, and this felt like a perfect fit for this prompt. I hope anyone else who has awareness of both fandoms will feel the same way.**

* * *

 **oneirataxia** \- (n.) inability to distinguish dreams or fantasy from real life _[greek]_

 _In the blink of an eye, it all changes…_

Seamus Finnegan sat up in his bed. He couldn't quite pinpoint when it had all started, but lately he'd been having these dreams. No, not just dreams, more like out of body experiences. Visions of a world he didn't know, living the life of other people he'd never met. Bright lights, crowds of easily thousands upon thousands. It felt like a possession, but he was the one doing the possessing. None of the experiences seemed to have any real consequences so far, though the pain he encountered in all of them stayed with him until he woke the next day.

There was another constant as well: that damn music. It awakened something primal in him, something fierce and ferocious and dangerous. Seamus did his best to keep the impulses under control, but each time he was pulled into the experiences, it got more difficult. The internal war in his mind lost ground constantly, and eventually he would lose himself entirely if he couldn't figure out how to stop it.

He did get little clues about what was going on around him during his experiences, but the only name he'd been able to hold onto had hearkened back to some mythology that his mother had taught him when he was young: Balor, a giant with one deadly eye in the middle of his forehead. How that giant related to the body that he inhabited some of the time was beyond him, but he could feel his magic flowing freely into the body during the experiences, giving the body extra strength to ward off harm and fight back against those looking to harm him.

Shaking his head, Seamus wandered off to the shared bathroom of the Gryffindor 5th years. When these experiences happened, it usually signaled the end of any chance at sleep for the rest of the night. A quick Tempus showed that it was just before 5am. At least he had gotten some sleep this time. Wouldn't do to be caught falling asleep during Transfiguration by McGonagall.

As he entered the bathroom, his eyes were suddenly drawn to the mirror over the sink. Though he could feel no magic, he felt compelled to see his reflection. But the face staring back at him was not his. It was the face of an older man, approaching his mid-thirties if Seamus hit his guess. His hair was closer to the jet black color of Seamus' dormmate Harry Potter than his own sandy brown color, and a beard framed by light stubble covered his chin. He drew closer, and saw a much more muscular body as well, the body of an athlete. This, he recognized, is what he looked like when he was in the experiences, except there was one thing missing.

 _The Demon King Awakens…_

As he visualized the differences, they slowly began appearing on him. Words, written in a manic script, faded into being on his torso. The same black substance that the words were written in spread down from the top of his head to cover his face and chest, then a sinister white smile formed on his neck. Feeling an itching on his back, he turned, to see an large yellow eye directly between his shoulder blades. For one second, it looked very real, and he swore he saw it blink, before it lost some of its substance and settled into a frozen position, staring straight ahead.

Unnerved, he quickly turned back to face the mirror, only to see bright green eyes staring back at him. These were not the killing curse green eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived; these eyes nearly glowed of their own fruition. He blinked. They were his. He moved quickly to the sink and splashed some water on his face. He looked back into the mirror, and saw only himself, as he was. No muscular athlete, no demonic writing, no itching eye on his back. Just Seamus Finnegan.

He wandered back towards his bed, hoping to at least find some peace while laying awake for the next hour. He didn't look back into the mirror.

In the mirror, the Demon King stood, observing silently. "Soon, young one, your magic shall feed my body, and I shall reign supreme once more."


	11. Asunder

**A/N: As always, the Potterverse is owned by JK Rowling.**

* * *

 **la douleur exquise** \- (phr.) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable; the emotional experience of the one whose love is not being reciprocated; the exquisite pain one experiences when loving someone they can never have _[french]_

For months…nay, years, he waited. Something about her just called to him, to his magic, to his very being. She reacted to him only once, when he was able to get past his shy nature long enough to invite her to a ball. For him, the night was bliss. He noticed her sneaking glances at another throughout the night, but she stayed with him anyway. At the close of the evening, he walked her back to her dorm, and she favored him with a polite kiss on the cheek. That was the last time she showed him any affection for three years.

He had known for a long time that her eyes were drawn to another. It would have been very hard to miss it, actually. The way she stared at him when he wasn't looking, the squeaks and red-faced embarrassment when she was caught, it was all very obvious if one was looking. And he was always looking at her. Somehow, she never caught him. He chose not to pay it any mind for his own sanity. He also never tipped off the object of her wanton desire, as he seemed to have enough going on in his life most of the time.

Circumstances forced by the Ministry and the war brought them somewhat closer together, but even then, she pined for the other. He, trying to gain any insight, any foothold into her life that he could, found companionship in her childhood friend. A bit eccentric, she was, but once you got past that, she was a genius, and most importantly to him, she didn't mind that he saw her as nothing more than a friend and likely always would. She became his closest confidant, and he her grounding force.

Finally, in his last year of schooling, he got closer to her than he had been since the ball. They took the lead as freedom fighters, defying the evil presence trying to influence the school at large. The object of her affections was away doing grander things, so it fell to him to keep her protected, and he relished the role. He even got the sense that their forced closeness might be causing her to fall ever so slightly for him (him!) over the other, and he did his utmost to carefully nurture that feeling. All that was left now was for him to find the courage to lay his heart bare for her.

Before he could find the time to do such, the other returned, a man on a mission, fire in his eyes, and power radiating. Her eyes drifted, and he knew then and there that she was lost to him. The conquering hero had always been her dream, and he had returned here, not specifically for her, but to win an entire war and claim her as his spoils. Even when the other appeared on the edge of losing it all, he pulled a miracle unknown to survive against all odds, and it was to her he looked after his victory.

Lost in thought on the edge of the celebrating masses, Neville Longbottom slipped out of the Great Hall alone; alive in body but dead in spirit, and broken in heart.


	12. Sensory

**A/N: The usual disclaimers still apply. This story is also a bit different from the others, as it actually incorporates the word itself, rather than just the idea it creates. I hope I've done so in a way that makes sense, and creates an enjoyable story.**

* * *

 **mann vasani** \- (n.) "petrichor" - the distinct scent of rain as it pours down on dry, warm ground of the earth _[tamil]_

A sniff of the air, and a smile crossed her face. This, more than anything else, was the smell of home. It took the perfect conditions to produce this smell, and if she could bottle it, she would. It reminded her of when she was a little girl back in India, before her family moved to Britain. A simpler time in a simpler place, a place Padma Patil would almost certainly be returning to once her apprenticeship was complete. For as many things were easier at home, the study of advanced magic was one of the few that was easier here. She heaved a rather annoyed sigh at that thought.

Whereas it was almost impossible for a young woman to find a magic apprenticeship in India, it was only extremely difficult to find one in Britain. Finding someone willing to train a non-pureblood raised the degree of difficulty somewhat, but Padma was fortunate that her head of house also taught the field she had the most interest in, and had no such prejudice on the matter. He did, however, require that she pass a series of his tests to even apply for the honor, a rarely used but perfectly acceptable method as outlined by the British Ministry of Magic for becoming an apprentice. She had heard rumors of other "acceptable" tests, and counted herself extremely lucky that she didn't have to apply for those fields.

Now, though, she was nearing the end of her five years as Professor Flitwick's right hand. It had been an enlightening five years, to be sure, but it had meant that she hadn't been able to go home as her sister Parvati had following graduation. Parvati had opened a small boutique in magical Mumbai, and had gotten engaged to a very nice Indian wizard; basically, everything she had ever wanted from life, while Padma was stuck in the Isles, lucky to leave the greater Hogwarts area more than a couple of times a month. Mostly, Padma was jealous that Parvati once again got to experience mann vasani, while she did not.

As she sat reminiscing in her private office, a partial stack of ungraded Charms essays on the desk in front of her, the door opened and Charms Master Filius Flitwick strode into the room. Parma, completely oblivious to the world around her, didn't notice the man enter until he levitated on top of her desk and poked her lightly in the forehead with his finger. "Miss Patil, are you in there?"

A startled Padma nearly fell out of her chair, but managed to stay seated and quickly regained her composure. "My apologies, Filius, I was thinking of home again. Did you need something?"

He nodded. "As a matter of fact, I need you to take a brief walk with me. You may leave the essays behind for now." Returning himself to the floor, Flitwick led Padma out into the halls of Hogwarts. He allowed them to move away from the bustle of students enjoying their Saturday afternoon for a bit before explaining why their walk was needed.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors that Minerva has decided to retire as Headmaster?" She had; they'd been the talk of the castle for the last month. "The rumors are true, and while she has decided to stay on as Transfiguration Professor, someone will have to take her place. As of about an hour ago, the Hogwarts Board of Governors has chosen her replacement: myself. Therefore, Hogwarts will need a new Charms Professor, as I couldn't possibly try to hold both posts. Minerva warned me of such a thing happening to her, and I don't have any intentions of following in those footsteps."

Padma had been following the Professor rather blindly until now, as she realized he had led them up to the 7th floor corridor where the Room of Requirement was hidden. She was unaware that Flitwick even knew about the Room, but as the door appeared before her, it was clear he did. In the manner of a proper gentleman, he opened the door and bid her entrance.

Walking slowly into the room, Padma observed that it looked very much like her homeland. It was then that the smell hit her. Her eyes widened in surprise; not only had Flitwick restored the full capabilities of the Room, he had been able to make it recreate the part of home she missed so much.

"I know how much you miss India, Padma. And though you would certainly be welcome to return home at the end of your apprenticeship, I would greatly prefer that you instead do Hogwarts the great honor of becoming its Professor of Charms. I had been working on this project as a way to entice you to stay and take an Assistant Professorship along with some of my class load, but when word began leaking to me that I might have the big chair in my future, I doubled my efforts to make sure that you could go home without ever leaving here. What do you think?"

Padma was stunned speechless. As she looked around the room, noting every detail was just like home, she was overcome by a wave of emotions, causing her first response to be hugging her former professor. As she calmed enough to form coherent responses again, the words "becoming Professor of Charms" flitted back through her brain. "Y-you want me to be the C-charms Professor, sir?"

Flitwick gently patted her on the back. "You don't have to give me your answer right this moment, Padma. It'll keep for a couple of days. For now, just enjoy the Room as it is. I'll make sure an elf brings you dinner in here, if you'd like."

Padma nodded, and sat herself on the ground, looking around at everything and picturing her home once more. That wonderful smell filled her nostrils again, and as the quiet footsteps of Flitwick leaving faded away, she already knew that this wouldn't be the last time she found herself in here.


	13. Longing

**A/N: I continue to not own the Potterverse. I struggled mightily with this prompt, so instead of a normal length story, this chapter ends up being more of a drabble. Hopefully, that does not lessen your enjoyment of it.**

* * *

 **sehnuscht** \- (n.) the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what; a high degree of intense, recurring, and often painful desire for something, particularly if there's no hope to attain the desired or when its attainment is uncertain, still far away _[german]_

There were nights when he wondered why he was traipsing about the wilderness with his friends. When he wondered why they were following him, despite his clear lack of a plan. When he wondered why this burden had been placed on his shoulders, a boy of barely 17 years destined to fight a man of approximately 70 years (depending on how one qualified the time he was disembodied). Why must everything come back to him? Why couldn't his life have just been normal? Sometimes, it felt like the only place he could be normal was in his dreams…

 _Harry opened his eyes, a content smile on his face, and the distinctive red hair and form of Ginny Weasley lying next to him. He loved these moments, just before she awoke to start her day. So peaceful, so right. She stirred, slowly, sleepily opening her gorgeous eyes. Her smile matched Harry's perfectly. No words needed to be said between them._

 _They got up and prepared breakfast together, moving fluidly as though they had done this same dance thousands of times before. A table set, a meal prepared, and as they fed each other bites the same thought ran through both of their minds: This is how life should be._

Suddenly, Harry's eyes opened, and he slowly realized that, as always, it had only been another dream. He was not contentedly lying next to Ginny Weasley, or anyone else for that matter. He was sleeping on a cot in a thankfully magical tent, but still a tent nonetheless. It was not peaceful, it was not right, and it would continue to be neither of those as long as the Dark Lord still lived.

Harry turned to drape his legs over the side of his cot as a painful cramp made its way through him. Normalcy was for other people, he mused. They could never know, could never understand why he wanted none of his fame, why he wanted no part of the task that he had been prophesied for. They did not comprehend why he would want to live the life of the everyday wizard, rather than "bask" in the "adulation" of being the so-called Boy-Who-Lived.

Some day, Harry thought, he might yet be normal. But not today.


	14. Secrets

**A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse.** **This story had a few different beginnings before finally settling on this one, and while I set up a lot of groundwork here for future stories, this feels more like a prologue to something much greater. I don't know if I'll come back to this universe anytime soon, so if someone wants to do something with this (or with any of my stories), just let me know. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **mokita** \- (n.) something known by everyone but never discussed openly; "truth we all know but agree not to talk about" _[kilivila]_

"We honestly thought you knew, mate. She said she'd told you everything, and obviously we didn't want to say anything, because you'd hex our bollocks off. Hell, I'm still not totally sure this was the best idea, but someone had to fill you in." Dean paused to take a nervous gulp of tea. "I hate that you had to find out like this, but better now than later, right?"

"Dean, do yourself a favor: go anywhere that isn't Britain for the next week. I'll deal with all of this in that time, and I'd rather not do something by accident I might regret later. Do you understand?" Green eyes blazing at him, Dean nodded and got the hell out of the Leaky Cauldron while he could. He'd enjoy the next week, far, far away from the very pissed off Man-Who-Won. He'd be one of the lucky ones.

For many years, Harry Potter had lived blissfully unaware that his girlfriend (later fiancé, and nearly wife) had a penchant for finding herself waking up in the beds of other men. It was the loudest secret in Britain, but somehow stayed out of the gossip rags, the Prophet, or any other source of news besides word of mouth. And thus, it stayed away from Harry. There was much speculation as to why these affairs happened (many thought it was a kink for her, some thought it a kink of his, and a few who insisted that money was exchanging hands in the bargain somehow), but only she knew the truth. And thus far, she wasn't telling.

Dean's warning came exactly one week before the "Wedding of the Century," or so the Daily Prophet had dubbed it, was scheduled to take place. A single, quiet, one-sided conversation later, the wedding and engagement were off, a redhead openly wept in her bedroom, and a furious man carrying a parchment with a list of names on it stormed out of the Burrow. One name had already been crossed off; the rest would be getting a visit very soon.

But first, there were two stops that were legally required for what Harry had planned. First, to the Ministry, to pick up the forms specifically designed for this purpose. Then, to Gringotts, to get an appropriate number of identical golden daggers, also required to make this legal. For when one chose to declare a blood feud, there were procedures that had to be followed. You couldn't just declare one willy-nilly; that was how too many noble houses had ended during the 15th century.

First, one had to write a letter of grievances and intent to declare feud. Since the grievance was the same in each case, Harry drafted a form letter, and simply duplicated the parchment until he had the required number of copies. At the bottom of each letter, a "no contest" settlement was included, in case the man in question did not want the public stigma of having feud declared against them. It was the legal equivalent of a forfeit, and had saved many from certain death in the past. Most of the time, this settlement was a large monetary payment to the aggrieved party.

Once the letters were prepared, the next step was to ritually prepare the daggers. To properly declare a blood feud, naturally some bloodshed was required. The amount wasn't much, but for as many missives as he had, Harry required a bit of blood replenishing potion after he had finished. Once coated, the blades entered a functional stasis; it wouldn't do for the blood to drip off the blade, nor for it to dry before the message had been delivered. The stasis would break only when the blade had been delivered.

Finally, the delivery. There were two acceptable ways to deliver the feud notices. The more traditional, but sparingly used in modern times, way was to stab the notice into a member of the offending family with the dagger. It had mostly fallen out of favor due to its barbarism. The second, less brutal, method was to instead stab the notice into something wooden belonging to the offender; usually a table or door, depending on the circumstances. While he harbored some uncharitable thoughts about those he would soon be seeing, Harry would be using the latter method to serve his papers.

Some of the deliveries were quite easy. Harry slammed the notices onto doors, the occupants took one look at who had just stabbed their door, and immediately paid the no contest penalty. Fully half of the notices went that way, almost all of them being people Harry didn't know or barely remembered from Hogwarts. A few tried to deny any knowledge or participation, but were cowed into submission (and payment) by Harry's furious glare.

Ernie MacMillan seriously considered accepting the feud for a moment, but realized that the social pariah status he would likely gain from the feud wasn't worth the sum Harry was asking for. He did stipulate that his payment would be donated anonymously to charity, a condition Harry was willing to accept, as the money didn't really mean much to him anyway. Harry made a mental note to curtail his dealings with the MacMillan family regardless, as the situation wasn't worth the headache of future negotiations with Ernie.

The last visit was one that Harry expected might not end as peacefully as the rest, for a variety of reasons. Waltzing through the open gates of the manor house, he slammed his declaration into the door as he had with the rest. This time, however, it wasn't the subject of his declaration that answered the door; it was his wife. Astoria Malfoy took one look at the parchment attached to her front door, raised an eyebrow, and called a house elf to go fetch her husband. She then invited Harry in, and led him to a well-furnished seating area. They only had to wait a few moments before they were joined by a momentarily befuddled Draco. Once he took in the scene, his expression morphed into some combination of disgust and anger, matching the one on Harry's face.

"Well, Draco," said Astoria evenly, "do you have something you'd like to say about this?" She brandished the parchment and dagger in front of him. To the surprise of both his wife and Harry, Draco simply read through the details on the parchment, noted the amount requested as compensation, and wrote Harry a Gringotts draft in that amount, without saying a word. He made a shooing motion towards Harry, and led his wife deeper into the manor house.

Having nothing else to do now that his notice was delivered, and resolved, Harry showed himself out of the manor and Apparated home. He wasn't quite sure where he would go from here, but he was certain that wherever he went, he wouldn't be inviting Ginny Weasley along.


	15. Glances

**A/N: Happy New Year! I finally found enough time and motivation to get back into this collection, so here's a quick drabble for your enjoyment. As always, I don't own the Potterverse.**

* * *

 **torpe** \- (adj.) the quality of, usually a young man, being too shy to pursue amorous desires to someone adored _[filipino]_

From afar, he watched her. The quirks, the oddities, the eccentricities, where others saw them and turned away, he forced himself to keep his eyes on her. Many would be surprised he could pay that much attention to anything, given how his marks usually turned out, but he had been Sorted into the house of the cunning for a reason. Marks were only important if one tied themselves, their very being, into them; he knew that once he completed school, no marks (or Marks) would tie him down to this backwards, backwater society. He had learned from his father's mistake, and at his mother's urging would pursue his own passions. And from the first day he saw her flowing blonde locks in the halls, she became one of his passions.

They didn't see much of each other, at first. She was Sorted Ravenclaw, and a year younger than he, so classes were no help in seeing her more. His size made it hard to sneak around the castle after her, and on the few occasions he could actually attempt it, he swore she knew he was following, even though she never seemed to acknowledge his looming presence. The messy 'Heir of Slytherin' nonsense also didn't help his searches, given that much of the school grew suspicious of any Slytherin walking the halls alone. Still, he watched when he could manage.

It wasn't until his fourth year that he finally got more than just the occasional mealtime viewing of her. His Charms marks were bad enough that Professor Flitwick had "suggested" that he might pay a visit to another class of his to see if more practice might help improve his comprehension. Luckily, the small man had chosen his third year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class as his remedial lessons. While he did make some more progress on his casting, he often took long looks her way, but it took months before she finally seemed to notice.

Approximately one week after the Yule Ball (and what an opportunity that had been, since someone had been brave enough to take her as their date, leaving him free to stare without concern; his own date, a totally disinterested girl from Durmstrang, had only asked him so as to not go alone and left his side as soon as they'd walked into the Great Hall), he was packing his things following Remedial Charms when he noticed a shadow suddenly fall across his desk. Glancing up, he saw her, backlight by a rare ray of Scottish winter sun. In her eyes, he saw curiosity; on her face, a quizzical expression. Closing up his bag, he turned to face her, staying seated so that he didn't tower over the waif of a girl. She studied him for a moment, and raised an eyebrow when he said nothing. She scribbled out a note on a piece of parchment, carefully folded it and placed it on the desk in front of him, and left the classroom. He picked up the note gingerly, glanced around to confirm that everyone else had left, and unfolded it.

 _"_ _If you ever desire more than a glance, you need but ask. Until then, I wait here alone."_


	16. Worlds Apart, Part 1

**A/N: As always, the Potterverse belongs to JK. For this story, I also grabbed a line from the Dialogue Prompt Competition (** topic/44309/160011698/1/ **)** **: "She was the best friend I've ever had; what do I do now?" It really helped me focus in on what I wanted this story to be about.**

* * *

 **dolilyts** \- (v.) to lie with your face turned down to the ground _[ukranian]_

She visited every year. Not the same day, rarely the same time of day even, but always once in a calendar year. It was difficult for her to bear making the one trip, and more than one was entirely out of the question. It had been decades, but the pain of the loss was still fresh. Every time she returned, she returned to that fateful day as well.

 _"_ _Hannah, we have to go! They're coming!"_

 _She turned, only to see a cutter remove her friend's left foot. She cried out in pain, but bore a determined look as she began to run, pain etching her face each time the bleeding stump struck the ground. They ran into a classroom for cover, no more than a dozen meters away, Hannah trailing blood with every other step. Any attempt she could make to stanch the flow were unsuccessful, though she could only try a couple of spells before her friend cried out again. She looked into her eyes, those beautiful brown orbs that she knew so well, and knew what was coming before it could even be said._

 _"_ _NO! I won't leave you like this!"_

 _"_ _Sue, you gotta. I can't run on this thing, and there's no sense in both of us getting caught and killed because of me. You know me, I'll fight until the end. If I see you again, it was meant to be. And if I don't…" she paused for another whimper of pain…"I love you, and I always will."_

 _She had tears in her eyes as she gave her one last kiss, one last shove towards the door, as Susan ran away…_

They said later that when they found Hannah, she hadn't been alone. She'd managed to kill three Death Eaters before a lucky Reducto broke her wand. The caster hadn't been so lucky, though, as the remaining piece had been shoved into his skull. it was believed that the blood loss had gotten to her soon after, as she had passed on lying facedown in the doorway, a trail showing that she had tried crawling out of the room, but was too exhausted to leave.

This year, for the first time, Susan had brought someone with her to visit. Following the war, she and Neville Longbottom had gotten together, bonded at first by their mutual loss of Hannah, but eventually they fell hard for each other, and had gotten married. They both visited her when they could, but never at the same time; Neville because his work left him up at odd hours, Susan because she wanted a more personal time with her friend. Only when their first daughter had graduated from Hogwarts did Susan finally bring the girl to meet her namesake.

It had been Valentine's Day, the day that Hannah had first kissed Susan. Of course, they had only been 6 at the time, so no one had thought anything of it. Except for Hannah, but she would only reveal that secret to Susan much later. Susan collected her daughter from the Ministry, and the two of them popped over to Brighton, where Hannah had been buried next to her mother, another casualty of the war. After leaving a bouquet of flowers for both of them, Susan stood quiet. Minutes passed, neither wanting to break the silence.

"She was the best friend I've ever had. What do I do now?"

"You have to give her closure, Hannah. She's tried very hard to get it from everyone else, even from her daughter, but she keeps coming back here every year. It can only be you, my child. Go to her. Only she will hear and see you."

"I'll do my best."

Susan blinked once, then again. She had heard of strange things related to ghosts, but even this was unheard of to her. They most often showed up days or occasionally weeks after death, but never years. Except she was very clearly seeing the ghost of Hannah Abbott sitting on her gravestone, and she believed that Hannah's ghost would have made itself known to her before now. So something very odd was happening here. She turned to her daughter, expecting her to have a similar reaction, only to find the girl frozen in place, along with everything else in the nearby area.

"She can't see me, Sue. This is just for you and me, mostly for you. I don't get to come back for very long, but I want to make the most of the time. You can't keep living like this, hon. Neville loves you, as much as he ever loved me. Your gorgeous daughter here loves you, and she's worried that you can't let go of the past, of me."

"And what about me, Han? You loved me, and I loved you too, and those bastards took you from me. Neville's a real nice guy, but he's not you. I needed you. I still need you, and I can't have you. I thought coming to visit once a year would be enough, but it's just not. I need more!"

"You need to get a grip, Susan. You have a wonderful family, a devoted husband, and you're wasting away your life on something that can no longer be. Not in the world you inhabit, anyway. And I swear, if you try and off yourself to come to where I am, you will never see me again. The woman I loved was smarter than that, and I hope for your sake that she comes back. Begging and pleading doesn't become you, girl, and maybe it's time someone said that to your face."

Susan was taken aback by the harsh words. In her heart, she knew Hannah had a point. The pain of Hannah's death still hurt because she had let that wound stay open and fester. She fell to her knees in despair, weeping for both what she had lost and what she had almost thrown away. She soon found herself wrapped in ethereal arms, Hannah whispering in her ear.

"Let it out, Sue. Let it all out. When this is over, I promise, you'll see me again. But that won't happen for a long time yet, and your family needs you here and now, not stuck back at Hogwarts with me. Love them, Susan, and they'll love you back, as I loved you and still do. We'll meet again."

Susan looked into the comforting face of her friend, and saw the truth in her eyes and her smile. She picked herself up off the ground and brushed herself off. She gave a light kiss to Hannah's ghostly hand, clutched tightly in her own, as her spirit began to fade. The world around her resumed its motion, and Hannah rushed over to stabilize her still slightly unsteady mother.

"Mum? Are you OK? Do you need to sit down for a minute?"

Susan took a good look at her daughter, a wonderful blend of her own features and Neville's. The young woman bore no resemblance to her namesake, and for perhaps the first time, Susan was glad that it was so. Her Hannahs were very different people, and it was high time she began acting like it.

"I'm fine, dear. Let's go home; a graveyard is hardly the place to be on Valentine's Day, and you know your father will have something wonderful prepared for us."

Feeling lighter than she had in years, Susan returned home, prepared to live the rest of her life looking up to the sky rather than down to the earth.


	17. Worlds Apart, Part 2

**A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse.**

* * *

 **horilyts** \- (v.) to lie with your face turned up to the sky _[ukranian]_

It was finally over. They collapsed to the grass in relief, hearing the quickly spreading news that the Dark Lord Voldemort had been defeated for all time. Neville, having brought them the news, paused as though intending to join them, but thought better of it, seeing the giddy, yet somehow serene looks on their faces. He departed, spreading the good news further, looking every bit the warrior he had proven to be on that day.

Laying in the grass outside the great castle, Hannah took Susan's hand in her own. "You know, I wasn't sure if we were going to make it. That Cutting Curse nearly took off my foot. If you hadn't pulled me away at the last second, I might not have been able to get out of there."

Susan closed her eyes, recalling the moment vividly. "Add it onto the list of times I've saved your life, hon. I'm sure I'll collect on all of those some day." Her wide grin showed Hannah exactly the kind of repayment she had in mind.

It had been a open secret inside Hufflepuff House for years, and while they had only gotten around to dating each other fifth year, their roommates had considered the pair linked almost from the very beginning. If pressed for a reason, "they just look right together" was the most common refrain. In truth, no one really paid much mind to the closeness of the girls; there were plenty of other topics to gossip about at Hogwarts, and the most notorious gossips lived in Gryffindor Tower anyway, with their own romances to whisper about. Professor Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head of House, had no qualms with the arrangement, and treated it as a non-issue when asked. The ongoing threat of war didn't leave much time for further exploration while the Death Eaters ran the castle, but with freedom set to return to the land, Hannah and Susan were already looking forward to what the future held for them.

They lay there in the grass for hours, enjoying the company and chatting idly with the occasional passersby. There was some discussion of what would be done for Hogwarts, how the Ministry would function now that it was once again autonomous, and other such sundry topics, but eventually silence would return, and general content would fall over the group. The work of putting the country back together could wait until tomorrow; today was for celebration and relief at remaining among the living. Eventually, house elves began popping around the grounds telling everyone that a meal was to be served in the Great Hall for anyone who wished to remain for it. Susan pulled her girlfriend up off the ground, brushed the pair of them clean of dirt and dust (taking special care to ensure Hannah was very clean), and led their small group back into Hogwarts.

The large House tables had been abandoned, in favor of smaller circular tables like those used for the Yule Ball, but without the fancy table decorations used during that event. Some tables were more somber; the Weasleys were still coming to terms with their loss, while more than a few wearing green trimmed robes were grieving their parents and other family. One table was particularly enthusiastic, with Lavender Brown holding court and talking to whoever would listen about how she used cosmetic charms to take down a werewolf that thought she was easy prey. Finding a quiet table with only one other occupant, Susan and Hannah sat down next to a blonde girl lost in thought as they approached.

"Hello Luna," said Susan quietly, taking comfort from Hannah immediately snuggling into her side. "Glad to see that you made it through as well."

The blonde stared briefly, before a small grin broke through. "Oh yes, it's a good thing we'd been practicing all year, or else I might have had more trouble with them. I see you two are closer than ever; any heroic tales I need to hear about?" Susan was just about to answer when an elbow caught her in the ribs. Hannah didn't seem interested in letting her regale the table with the latest installment of 'Saving Hannah's cute arse…again.' "Another time, perhaps, Luna. Someone would rather eat first and talk later, it seems." She planted a kiss on her girlfriend's forehead to show there was no malice in the statement.

Once everyone had been seated, food began appearing on each table. It wasn't anything close to a feast, but a few easily prepared sides and main dishes proved to be just what people were wanting. People continued to drift in and out of the room, with more food appearing as needed, but as the evening wound down most were leaving and returning home for the first time since the call to arms nearly 36 hours prior. Having eaten their fill, Susan and Hannah walked hand in hand around the grounds for a while, watching the sun set over the nearby mountains, reliving the victory they had helped win, before Apparating home to continue their celebrations in private.


	18. Seer

**A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse.**

* * *

 **boketto** \- (n.) the act of gazing vacantly into the distance without thinking _[japanese]_

"Everyone thinks that being a Seer would be the greatest. Being able to see the future would be awesome, they say. Knowing how an event will play out before it even occurs could be so lucrative for you, they think. They only focus on the good parts of being a Seer. Not a single one of them thinks about the consequences.

They don't consider that, among the events you'll see happening, the deaths of everyone you know and love will be among them. They don't consider that you'll know with perfect clarity exactly how you yourself will die, who may be responsible for it, and know that no matter how hard you try, you will not be able to change it. That even if you somehow manage to arrange for the person or method of your death to no longer be an option, time itself will correct for your actions.

They don't realize that being bombarded with knowledge of what will eventually happen makes it very difficult to focus on what is currently happening. There's a reason all Seers are considered to be a bit batty; they don't have the choice to not be. The best Seers, able to force their focus into the real world most of the time, necessarily go a bit mad from trying to do so, and often cause themselves physical, internal damage as a result. You may have thought Seers live shorter lifespans on average because everyone is demanding too much of them; the truth is most of those Seers have demanded too much from themselves instead, and that demand is to try and stop their so-called gift. It's not a gift, you foolish wizards; it's a bloody fucking curse. One we suffer from every day of our often short and miserable lives.

You wondered why I am usually wandering the castle aimlessly, gazing into nothingness and talking about things that most people not only haven't heard of, but are quite certain can't be real? I do it to maintain my own sanity, and that statement alone would probably draw snorts of derision from most of the people I consider anything close to friends, much less those who didn't even take the time to get to know me and just chose dislike immediately.

I led a very lonely existence until you came into my life, and it is only because of you that I try so hard to appear normal. I know, you would be happy with me living life however I chose, but because I am associated with you now, people are looking closer at me than they ever have before, and 'crazy' is not a good look for a friend of the Chosen One. If the public at large discovered that I was a Seer, that magnifying glass would get closer and closer. Being your girlfriend on top of that? I'd probably be dragged in front of Ministry goons the next day under all kinds of trumped up charges just so they could keep me away from you. I can't let that happen, Harry. I just can't. I need you at least as much as you need me, and I know how much you truly need me."

"So for now, we stay a secret. Wouldn't be the first secret I've had to keep from Dumbledore and his merry band, probably won't be the last. Hermione can be trusted, and she'll help distract Ron from the truth. It's not like any of your housemates will ever clue in to this anyway, and the Gryffindor gossips already know what happens when something I don't like gets around, so we should be able to stay quiet until we get out of this place. Our day will come soon, my love, but somehow I think you already know that."

"And it is until then I wait."


	19. Desire

**A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse.**

* * *

 **nostalgie de la boue** \- (phr.) "yearning for mud" - the feeling of being attracted to that which is depraved or below one's stations _[french]_

As he sat in the study of his very opulent manor house, sipping only the finest of French champagne from a glass of the clearest crystal, he pondered. He could have anything he wanted with the merest snap of his fingers, and in the past that had been enough to satisfy his desires. It was how his study was so richly furnished, leather and finely polished Bolivian Rosewood everywhere. It was how he owned a venerable fleet of house elves, all dedicated to serving him. His coffers overflowed, his investments all panned out, anything and everything he could ever dream of needing was within reach at his say so.

Except for her.

She was everything he wasn't: dirt poor, born and raised on a farm, freckled from much time in the sun, wouldn't know luxury if it skimmed her fiery red hair. And yet, his thoughts drifted, his pondering solidified, and despite every fiber of his being screaming "NO!", his heart whispered "Yes."

He had tried to forget about her. He had dated others of his station, every one of them the proper Pureblood princess to a tee. His interest had been discreet, suddenly burgeoning, and then immediately lost, as each one proved unfit for his needs. Most too vapid to sustain any semblance of conversation, the rest unable to bear the mental weight of becoming his Lady.

He even looked outside of Britain, loathe as he was to do so, and found the rest of the world wanting in comparison to her.

Her.

Always her.

He had taken up the ancient magical technique of scrying simply so he could watch her from afar. For most, acquiring the proper glass alone would have put them off the habit. He, of course, could take the expense out of his banking interest without even touching the principal, and did so. He watched her as she tended the chickens. He watched her as she prepared the dinner, with and without magic. On the rare occasions his social schedule allowed it, he watched her as she slept, but only for moments at a time; his honor demanded he not invade her privacy more than that.

Inquiries were made. Friends from their school days gave him some idea of where their family farm had moved to; the original had been torched by some of his less desirable acquaintances in the past. Information was collected about the boyfriend she currently had; where he lived, where he worked, everything that could potentially be useful was detailed. From what he could see, the boyfriend was no threat; his only advantage was living closer to her. He would be easily dismissed, thought Draco, once the time was right.

And when the time was right, he would have her.


	20. Alone

**A/N: JK owns the Potterverse, I just enjoy getting to play in her sandbox once in a while.**

* * *

 **waldeinsamkeit** \- (n.) the feeling of being alone in the woods _[german]_

The memories came at her from all sides, just as her attackers had during the battle. Looks of horror, looks of shame, a very loud and public rejection from her former best friend. Every day, Lavender Brown was haunted by what she had become. The doctors said she had been lucky to survive the attack, but these days, she didn't feel so lucky. She felt like an outcast.

When she was first released from St. Mungo's, she was hailed as a survivor. Of all those bitten at Hogwarts, she was the first to be allowed to leave the hospital. Another made his way out a few months later, but he couldn't handle the stigma of being a were and left the country. The rest either would never leave their private wing, or had perished during the battle.

Lavender had tried to pick her life back up where it had left off, and for a while she was able to convince herself that everything was just fine. While not given the royal treatment that some of her former classmates enjoyed (or had thrust upon them, as the case may be), she did receive a few moments of preference and benefits from being on the winning side and having the scars to prove it. She even managed to squeeze in a couple of dates with men, though none of them lasted more than a night. All in all, about the same as before.

Then came her first post-release transformation. She had managed to acquire some Wolfsbane, but she had been given a smaller than normal dosage, as the St. Mungo's potions master had been tied up with all of the injured after the battle. The potion had helped somewhat, but before the end of the night the wolf had fully taken over, and when Lavender awoke in the morning, she had a scratch down her right arm that she couldn't explain. Moreover, it didn't heal much as the days passed, leaving her with a thin scar. The next transformation (her first without Wolfsbane) was much worse, and before the end of the week she had left her job, unable to face the stares of the Witch Weekly staff.

Two months later, Parvati confronted her in Diagon Alley and ended their friendship with a slap across the face after a long diatribe about how she would no longer associate with "a downtrodden, wasteful, potentially dangerous thing." She saw a few looks of pity from the passersby, but most refused to meet her eyes at all. Lavender went home in tears that night, and found that she didn't care in the slightest that the wolf shredded the sari Parvati had gifted her for Christmas in their fifth year the following week.

Now, she sat in this featureless room, with sterile white padding on each wall. She knew there was a door to the outside somewhere hidden in amongst the pads, but she didn't really want to find it. She just wanted the memories to stop. She just wanted to be whole again. She just wanted to go back to the way things were.

No matter what the voices said, she wasn't crazy.


	21. Nirvana

**A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse.**

* * *

 **ukiyo** \- (n.) the "floating world"; a place of fleeting beauty and living in the moment, detached from the bothers of life _[japanese]_

Su found it much easier to meditate when there was nothing to distract her. The obvious distractions were the easiest to eliminate, thanks to the isolated nature of the room, but it wasn't until she slowly begin phasing out all the other external stimuli that she was truly able to find inner peace. After a fashion, she was even able to begin levitating while in trance, citing that the feeling of the floor against her skin was a potential distraction if left unchecked. Of course, it was much easier for her to visualize that the floor was no longer there, so when the secrets of the Room of Requirement were made known to her, she began testing just how far the Room could go.

First went the things; those necessary, bothersome objects that make a room more than a bare, empty space. With them gone, she was able to discover that she could float much higher than normal, going far beyond the foot she had achieved in her bedroom, and nearing the proscribed limit from her training book before settling into a comfortable height. She was noticeably better rested after these sessions, but her mind craved more, craved a further sense of peace beyond that which she had already discovered.

Next went the colors; lovely when used properly, but sometimes being distinguishable was more than the mind required. Now, the only way she could determine how far she levitated while in trance was by the slight drop in oxygen from the surrounding air; nothing potentially serious, but noticeable to one trying extremely hard to monitor their breathing. An utterly black room, in an utterly featureless place. The vastness of it stretched her brain beyond its fathoms, and she was delighted.

Finally, she dared attempt the most difficult part of reducing her distractions: abandoning the Lotus pose she had so easily mastered, and freeing her body to be as open as her mind. Arms and legs extended, held up by only sheer force of will, relaxed while in a state of near free-fall, with nothing to stop her but her own mind and magic. The slightest loss of concentration could prove fatal, but it was on that edge she knew that the greatest secrets and mysteries were solved. She first tested with a sturdy net of visualized Acromantula silk under her, then a net of common rope, and only then did she test the final true experiment, with no net at all.

In her mind, she found nirvana. In her peace, she found enlightenment. In her very being, she found the secret of magic.

She never meditated again. She never needed to.


	22. Feeling

**A/N: JK owns the Potterverse, I just play in her sandbox.**

* * *

 **lypophrenia** \- (n.) a vague feeling of sorrow or sadness seemingly without any apparent cause or source _[english]_

As mid-September approached, the feeling began again. It was a silly feeling, one that shouldn't really have even come about the first time, and yet here it was again. Why it always came this time of year rather than any other, he couldn't say. Yes, this was her birthday, what should be one of the greatest celebrations of her life, but why then and not any of the dozen other days where they personally had had something more, an adventure or an encounter of some kind? It didn't really make sense to him, but feelings never really did; he blamed his relatives for that particular feature of his life.

Harry Potter was many things: a hero, a conqueror, a friend, a father, and more. But the one thing he most certainly was not was the husband of his best friend. That position had been claimed by another, and at the time, Harry couldn't have been happier. Despite their sometimes legendary arguments, he had always carried the slight hope that his best friends would find happiness together, and when Ron and Hermione Weasley had departed their wedding reception for a honeymoon in Prague, he was the last one to see them off, an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

He would go on to marry Ginny Weasley a few months later, and for a time, everyone was happy and content. The Potters began raising a beautiful family, and soon their eldest was readying for his first trip up to Hogwarts. On Platform 9 3/4, Harry caught sight of his brother-in-law and his wife bringing their own child to the train. It was only in that moment that he realized he had no idea what the child's name was, having not seen him before now. Doing a quick bit of math in his head, he discovered that it had been years since he had talked to the woman he still thought of as his best friend. Shuffling over to say hello, he was struck by how the sun was reflecting off her deep brown eyes, how the light wind was caressing the curls of her hair. They made a bit of small talk before the train whistled its departure, promising to catch up more later.

A few weeks later, he caught himself daydreaming about his children, but something was different about them. Rather than the red hair of their mother, or his own green eyes, they instead bore the features of another. They looked more like kids he might have had with Hermione…

He shook himself from the daydream and got back to work. On that day, he first experienced the feeling. It was September 19th.


	23. Seduction

**A/N: The usual disclaimer applies. Also, this story heavily implies some things that might not agree with your personal morals. Just remember: it's only a story, these are fictional characters, and no one is forcing you to read this. Cheerio.**

* * *

 **tantenverfuhrer** \- (n.) a young man of excessively good manners whom you suspect of devious motives; "aunt seducer" _[german]_

"You know, Mr. Zabini, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me. Of course, since you are currently dating my daughter Nymphadora, I'm certain that you wouldn't need to stoop to such a thing, so perhaps it would be better if you explained just exactly what your hand is doing on my thigh right now," a throughly unamused Andromeda Tonks said, gently sipping the vintage champagne her daughter's ever-thoughtful boyfriend had brought to dinner that evening.

"Why Mrs. Tonks, I'm surprised you would think so little of me. Just because my mother garnered a reputation does not mean that I have any intention of following in her footsteps. As you said, I am perfectly happy with darling Dora, and would not dream of trying to seduce you behind her back," replied Blaise Zabini, taking a forkful of chocolate cake to punctuate his point.

"And yet, here we are, sitting at my dining table, transfigured and crafted to my exacting specifications by my dearly departed husband, enjoying a lovely meal that you hand-prepared from appetizer to dessert, discussing all and sundry, and your hand has not only not left my thigh, but has in fact begun traveling farther up my leg. On top of all of that, you did not in any way attempt to explain why you started feeling me up, and are making a very concerted effort to distract me from such right this very second. I am many things, Mr. Zabini, but stupid is not one of them."

"And no one here is claiming you are, Mrs. Tonks. Did you know that many well-respected medical professionals believe that exercising the senses daily is not only good for the body, but good for the mind and soul as well? Therefore, I am prepared to argue that it is medically necessary that I use my sense of touch as much as I can today, for I never know when it might be advantageous in the future to have done so now. Particularly since alcohol was involved this evening, and as we both know, alcohol has a detrimental effect on many of the senses, touch among them."

"Indeed, alcohol's effects on the senses are well-documented, as are some of the more insidious if often innocuous potions that our society is known to brew and consume. For instance, when combined with alcohol, the lust potion is often found to find its effect multiplied far beyond what even a perfectly prepared version could do. And since you are so skilled in food preparation, you would of course be aware that the easiest way to ingest that potion would be in some sort of sweetened dish to cover the potion's taste, like a chocolate cake to give an example."

"Oh come now, Andromeda, do I look like the sort of person that would resort to potioning someone to achieve the result I want? Now I'm beginning to think you can't separate myself and my mother, a circumstance that you'll find I am perfectly capable of between yourself and my darling Dora. You seem very suspicious of me for no reason I can fathom, and I am starting to feel like you don't trust me at all."

"Perhaps that has something to do with the hand that is still caressing my leg at this very moment, Mr. Zabini."

"For a very intelligent woman, Mrs. Tonks, you do seem to be blind to the obvious more than one would expect. Have you by chance looked at where my hands have been the entire time we've been having this conversation? The answer must be no, because if you had, it would not have escaped your notice that while my right hand has been occupied with this wonderfully moist cake, my left has been making sure that my glass of expertly chilled champagne does not fall over onto your table. Unless you are suggesting that I have grown a third, invisible hand and am a good enough actor to pretend that I have not done so, it would seem as though I cannot be the one touching your leg at this very moment."

A quick count by Andromeda confirmed that, yes, both of Blaise's hands were on the table. So then who…?

"Oh mother dear, weren't you listening earlier? Blaise as good as told you that I was here, but you were too busy accusing my boyfriend of trying to take liberties with you to notice that I had slipped out ten minutes ago and hadn't come back yet. Apparently, my Disillusionment charm has gotten better over time," said the disembodied voice of Nymphadora Tonks from under the table. "And to think, I wasn't sure if the potion I'd slipped into the cake would be easy enough to taste, but I should have remembered that you can never fool a Black, a lesson you tried very hard to pass along, mother."

As the implications began running through Andromeda's mind, Blaise stood up from the table, and offered a hand to his no longer Disillusioned girlfriend. "You may recall, Mrs. Tonks, that I said I had no interest in trying to seduce you behind your daughter's back. However, when she came to me, practically begging, mind you, and asked if I could set up an evening like this, well, I don't think you have to work very hard to imagine what my answer was. You see, while I am perfectly happy to go along with whatever events may transpire this evening, this was always darling Dora's plan, convincing her mother that she was still an attractive woman. Why she felt the need to go about it in this particular manner, however, is something for you two to discuss at a later time. For right now, however, I believe the next step of Dora's plan says that you should be coming with us right now."

A quick wave from Nymphadora's wand, and her mother had gone rigid, making it much easier for herself and Blaise to carry Andromeda into the bedroom.


	24. Agony

**A/N: I don't own the Potterverse; that would be J.K. Also, for the purposes of this fic, losing your soul is considered death, regardless of whether a body could function without it.**

* * *

 **sakaratul maut** \- (n.) the extremely unbearable pain suffered during the last moment of life, on the cusp of life and death _[arabic]_

This was it. He could feel it was time. And, if truth be told, he almost looked forward to it. Having outlived almost all of his peers, and nearly all of his friends from Hogwarts, there was precious little left for him here any more. Oh, there were always more family moments to be had, more children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren to be born, but the allure of it all, the newness of life, was long gone for him. It had all gotten so very old, as had he.

He had never been near enough to a Dementor to ever worry about being Kissed, though he had heard from Harry that the pain of your soul forcefully being pulled from your body was immense. And as Harry would know how Death looked and felt, having seen and experienced enough in his own life, he knew that crossing over was not a pleasant experience, regardless of how one did it. It was even worse when one knew it was coming, Harry had said. The agony was palpable on the faces of the soon-to-be deceased, right up until the moment they passed, and a look of utter contentment was frozen upon them forever. It was that moment, the one right before contentment, that he feared today.

Lying here in his bed, he could even begin to see the faces of his long-departed friends again. Hannah, his first love, passed only months ago and yet looked as though she had never left Hogwarts; Pomona, his mentor and long-time friend, radiating warmth and peace as she always had; Ginny, wife of his best friend and the girl he had shared his first dance with; Dean, his Gryffindor roommate and advisor on all things Muggle, decked out in his favorite West Ham gear; Hermione, the best and brightest of his class, and the woman who was the big sister he'd always wanted.

To his right, his parents, as they had been before 1981, as they should have been for all his life. His grandmother, proud as ever. Colleagues, former students, others who had shaped his life and had gone before him, all here to see him off. He even spotted the stern visage of Minerva near the back, looking happier than he had ever seen her in her lifetime.

And at the forefront of them all, the man he considered a brother in all but blood. The hero of all those assembled here, and countless others, as well as the first true Mage since the time of the Founders. The Master of Death himself, Harry James Potter. The hair had gone gray, the face had long lost its boyish quality, but the eyes had remained, two emeralds blazing with power, even now.

"They're here to guide you on. Any last requests?"

One last sweep of the room with his eyes, a final confirmation that he had done everything he wanted and could do.

"Make it quick, if you would."

Harry smiled. "Sure thing, Nev. Take my hand, and be free of this life."

As Harry reached out his left hand, made skeletal by the powers that he commanded, Neville began to feel the pull on his soul. That moment, the last time he would have to be brave, was here. Though, he mused as he reached for Harry, this could have been much worse….

Agony.

Ecstacy.

Contentment.

And thus did Neville Franklin Longbottom breathe his last.


	25. Beauty

**A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse.**

* * *

 **kyoka suigetsu** \- (n.) something that is visible but cannot be touched; the subtle and profound beauty of poems that cannot be described in words; "flower in the mirror, moon on the water" _[japanese]_

She was used to exploring Hogwarts, but never like this. It excited her to be awake and exploring while most of the castle was asleep, thanks to the Invisibility Cloak wrapped tightly around her. An unseasonable chill hung in the air, but she embraced the cold, reveled in it. Sneaking out of her Tower late at night to rendezvous with friends was something that had become habit over the years, but tonight was something different. A few somethings were different, actually.

First, this would be the last time she would see her seventh year friends in the castle. As they prepared to graduate Hogwarts tomorrow, she wanted to spend as much time as she could with them, as she would be leaving on the Express before their ceremony would begin. Luna knew she would see them again after the festivities were complete, and intended to meet them at the old Black place for dinner the next evening, whenever it may be.

Second, unlike most of their visits to the Room of Requirement, this one would involve no studying, no books, no educational pursuits whatsoever. Tonight, the Room would provide a place for friends to just enjoy each other's company. Perhaps it would provide a roaring fire to ward off the chill, perhaps it would provide a comfy booth in a pub setting to toast the past and the future. One could never be sure about the Room until one entered, after all.

Finally, Luna knew that her boyfriend was preparing something special for her tonight, but that was all she had been able to determine. Harry was a thoughtful boy, but was usually awful at keeping secrets, so the fact that she didn't know more was both a little exciting and a touch worrying. Harry's usual idea of "special" tended to be extravagant in the extreme, given that his godfather had taught him everything he knew about showmanship.

As she approached the Room, a visible door awaited her. She smiled, knowing she was expected. The door opened, and she was only able to take a few steps inside before she was frozen in her tracks by the sight of her boyfriend surrounded by their friends. A banner hanging over his head read "For the most beautiful woman I've ever known, only the best will do." In his hand was an exquisite diamond ring. From bended knee, he offered it to her.


	26. Perchance

**A/N: JK owns the Potterverse; I just move around some toys in her sandbox every now and then.**

* * *

 **sib ncaim** \- (v.) to part ways and never meet again; a separation of two persons or thing after a brief encounter _[hmong]_

The plan was simple: wait in the village for Potter, tag him with a Portkey, and return to his master's side. Snatch and grab, something that most thugs could pull off with a reasonable rate of success. And given that most of the Dark Lord's army barely rated at or above thug, it should have been perfectly within his wheelhouse.

His hiding place was easy; the alley next to Honeydukes that absolutely everyone had to pass to delve further into Hogsmeade. No one would suspect someone standing casually there, bundled up in a cloak to ward off the February chill. He didn't even need to wear his mask; doing so would have actually made him stand out more, and given the way the sun was already reflecting off the fresh white snow, the glare off his mask would have been a dead giveaway.

The Portkey itself was inspired; much easier to force someone away from an area when one has a blade stuck into them. The dagger was enchanted to activate immediately upon skin contact, so the gloved hand currently wrapped around it wouldn't carelessly set off the transport early. With luck, it would find itself buried in an important organ, or at the very least somewhere painful that would disorient the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Bloody-Die long enough to allow the Dark Lord time to finish the job.

All in all, the plan was perfect. Except for one minor detail.

Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen.

His friends had already gone past (and oh, how difficult it was to not just cut the blood traitor and his Mudblood girlfriend down then and there), and it soon became clear that Potter hadn't come to the town at all. He couldn't have snuck by, could he? A quick look through the town confirmed it: the damn boy wasn't visible anywhere.

However, one didn't have to be visible to point a wand into a Death Eater's back. Nor did one have to be visible to speak.

"I know he sent you. Give me the dagger, and no one gets hurt."

A swipe at the air where he thought Potter's voice was coming from hit nothing.

"Wrong answer. Accio."

Normally, when one attempts to Summon an item, it takes the path of least resistance to the caster. However, given that the dagger in the Death Eater's hand had only the leg attached to the same man between itself and the Summoner, it went directly through, activating the enchantment it was imbued with.

As the would-be assailant went spinning back to his master, Harry Potter pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, and nodded into Honeydukes at a watching Draco Malfoy, who nodded back.

Sometimes, it paid to have a spy.


	27. Blink

**A/N: As always, the Potterverse is JK's; I just play in her sandbox.**

* * *

 **augenblick** \- (n.) "in the blink of an eye"; a decisive moment in time that is both fleeting yet momentously eventful, even epoch-makingly significant _[german]_

The tall wizard stood silently. The cowering fool at his side did not.

"T-t-this is the place, M-m-master," whispered Pettigrew, valiantly attempting to stand bravely in the presence of the most feared Dark Lord of the age.

"The seemingly empty lot in the middle of the Hollow was in fact my first clue that we have arrived, Peter," the wizard hissed coldly. "Now, if you would be so kind as to give me the secret so that I might actually SEE the house…"

A hand shakily extended a slip of parchment, the secret written plainly upon it. A moment of contemplation, and a well-appointed house shimmered into view. The current residence of the Potter family. The future burial ground of the same.

"Let us pay your friends a visit, shall we?" "A-a-as you wish, my Lord."

The pair walked towards the house, Pettigrew nearly jogging to keep up with the long, leisurely strides of his Master. A wand was raised, a thought processed, a spell fired.

"Reducto."

A front door turned to rubble in an instant.

And now commotion was heard inside, a male shouting to his companion to flee with their child. His time hidden in this house had dulled his reflexes; not much, but enough for an experienced duelist to take advantage. He was dispatched, and his former friend was unable to even watch, noted the Dark Lord. "Come, Wormtail, our prey is still here."

Up the stairs, to the only room still lit. A nursery, with a few toys scattered about; this was where his greatest triumph would take place. The woman, obviously unarmed, pleading that her son be spared. Severus had mentioned that she would be difficult to reason with, but this was beyond the amount of drivel he could stand. She, too, was dispatched with ease. A look to his servant, still shaking in the doorway. At least he would be good for something, serving as a witness to this great triumph.

In the crib, the boy sat. He stared. As easy a target as the Dark Lord would ever have.

He raised his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"


	28. Affectionate

**A/N: Usual disclaimer applies. This chapter fought me a bit, so rather than trying to force things to an ending, I let it stop where it wanted, which may feel a bit abrupt.**

* * *

 **kalverliefde** \- (n.) the temporary affection and infatuation usually experienced by two young people in love _[dutch]_

Bonding over deaths of loved ones was an odd way to fall in love, but then few would have ever thought of Luna as anything but odd. Having lost her mother early in life, and then watching her father spiral into madness during the war, Luna knew very well the pain of losing loved ones. To her, it came as no surprise that when Harry Potter finally confided in someone, it would be someone who knew similar pain, not someone whose family was mostly untouched by the violence.

He found her, sitting by the Black Lake, staring out at nothing and everything. He joined her, and for a long time nothing was said between them. Both processing the horrors the Death Eaters had visited upon them, and what they had needed to do to survive. Neither was sure when their hands intertwined, but by the time they returned to the castle, both were glad they had. A few odd looks were directed their way, but no one paid much mind, having plenty of other recent events to think and talk about.

More looks came their way the next morning, when they came down to breakfast still hand in hand, still in their battle-worn clothing, having spent the night together. Though few would believe it, they had talked through most of the night, and only fallen asleep due to sheer exhaustion. One particular redhead tried to make her opinions about the two of them together known, but two blank, hollow stares back convinced her that now was not the time to interject. It would not be her last attempt, but the last time either of them paid it any mind.

The pair breakfasted together, with friends seated closely around them, but the chatter was kept light. Once sated, they left the Great Hall together, and returned to their spot by the Lake from the day before. Someone was sent to fetch them for lunch, only to discover that they were no longer there. A note had been left in Harry's handwriting, saying that they were going back to London, and would send word when they were ready for visitors.

A week passed, and then another. A third week had nearly expired as well before an owl arrived to Hermione Granger. It was a fairly short letter, basically explaining that Harry and Luna were now ready to accept guests, but could she please come alone the first time? A few guesses as to why that might be ran through Hermione's brain, but she decided to wait and see which idea would be confirmed. She left the Burrow straight away, only pausing to tell Arthur that she would be back later so that her absence wouldn't be worried about.

Arriving outside of Grimmauld Place, Hermione noted that the house looked a bit more cheerful than it had the last time she was here. Of course, the last time she had visited was when fleeing from the Ministry after stealing a Horcrux from that horrid Umbridge woman, so she might just be imagining things. She knocked politely on the front door, and only a moment later, it was opened by Luna. She was led into a comfortable living room she was fairly certain hadn't been present on her last visit, where Harry was already seated on a couch. She picked a cozy chair across from him, while Luna took a place on his left side. As she sat, their hands found each other, just as they had by the lake.

Hermione took a moment to simply study the pair, and found something very interesting: both looked visibly happier in this moment than any time she could recall. They seemed to be drawing comfort from each other, and a slow smile was her only visible reaction. She was quite happy for them, and only hoped that others would be as well. If anyone deserved happiness, it was the pair sitting in front of her.

"I'm glad you've finally reconnected with the outside world. We weren't sure we were ever going to hear back from you two. Is it safe to assume you have some important things to tell me that certain friends of ours might not react well to?" she queried cheekily, gesturing at their joined hands. To her surprise, neither of them showed even a hint of a blush, only scooting closer together on the couch and resting their heads on each other.

"She always has been a perceptive one, hasn't she, my love?" said Luna softly. Harry nodded, never breaking contact with Luna. "Too perceptive for her own good, sometimes, if you ask me," he replied, grinning and winking at Hermione. She responded the only way she could: by sticking her tongue out at the couple who rather easily redirected her teasing.

"To answer your question, Hermione, yes, we have important things to tell you, and also things that we expect some of the Weasley family might not want to hear. The most obvious, as you've already guessed, is that Luna and I are now dating," said Harry, pausing to kiss their still entwined hands. "We fully expect that people will be up in arms over this, but we've had a long time to think this over, and we couldn't be happier with this choice. It didn't just happen overnight, and we're still working to perfect it, but it feels right to us."

A beaming Hermione nodded her understanding. "And my congratulations to you. It sounded like you had more to say, though?"

Harry sighed, and Luna moved her head to rest more on his shoulder, her expression darkening slightly. "As it happens, your teasing was almost spot on. The reason it's taken us so long to get in contact is that we honestly weren't sure if we were ever going to. We worked through a lot of things in the weeks since the battle, and quite a lot of them are still unresolved. Luna still doesn't know what happened to her father, and all we've been able to determine is that he hasn't rebuilt the Rookery since we were last there. We were going to check St. Mungo's, but Luna didn't want to go alone, and you know if I showed up there now everyone would want a word or a moment or just more of my time than they should get, and we'd get nothing done."

"We only know that much because Harry and I attempted a visit to Gringotts, and that exact thing happened. If it wasn't for the fact that the Goblins also wanted to speak with Harry as much as he wanted to meet with them, we might still be there. A settlement was reached that all parties agreed to, but that visit took an entire day, when it should have been an hour or two at most. That was two weeks ago, and we've rarely left here since. It's just fortunate that Kreacher is still capable of performing most basic shopping tasks." Luna traced circles on the back of their joined hands, her eyes distant.

A frown crossed Hermione's face. "I had no idea. The couple of times I've gone into Diagon, I've gotten a few well-wishers, but nothing on this scale at all. I suppose that makes sense, though; I'm not the one who ended a Dark Lord's reign of terror for a second time." Her attempt at humor fell flat, with Harry bowing his head and Luna gently caressing his face. They sat like that for a while, Hermione unable to think of how to progress the conversation, and Harry and Luna unwilling to do so.

"We've all been damaged by the war, Hermione, and it's going to take us a while to recover. You have Ron and the rest of the Weasley family, and eventually your parents will return from Oz and you'll have them as well. Right now, Luna and I have each other, and it's going to take us some time to move beyond that. We'll try to keep in touch with you and Ron, but for now, we need time for us, and until the rest of Magical Britain can respect that, we'll be spending a lot of time here. For most people, this would be their honeymoon phase; for us, some time to heal would do wonders."

Luna drew him in for a brief kiss, regretfully breaking it to lay her head on his chest.


	29. Red-Faced

**A/N: The Potterverse belongs to JK. This plot belongs to me. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **tampo** \- (v.) to express sudden disinterest or hurt feelings, where one usually pretends tantrum or fakes anger to elicit apology or affection from someone _[filipino]_

"Baby, I'm sorry. You know I love you."

"Then why did you do something so hurtful, Neville? You know how much I love this dress, and how much effort I've put in to keeping it in perfect condition so that I can be the dutiful wife for all of your business meetings that bore me to tears. I wonder how many other things of mine you secretly hate, just like you apparently hate my favorite dress!"

Neville sighed, wiping his hand across his face tiredly. He spared a brief glance at the heavens, mouthing "Why me?", before standing and going over to where his rather frustrated wife stood. He tried to wrap her in a hug, but she lightly shoved him away, still in a huff. He slumped against the wall, exasperated that what seemed to him to be such a trivial matter had escalated to this.

For her part, Hannah stood in front of their floor-length mirror, inspecting her dress for imperfections, while also keeping an eye on her husband. The flaws with the dress were minor, something that she could probably fix in a couple of minutes, but it was how the flaws came to be that had really brassed her off. Her loving, devoted, wonderful husband had apparently decided that this dress would be much better served as food for some of his more exotic plants, and she had barely been able to recover her clothing from the plant before it had absorbed the material. In truth, this wasn't actually her favorite dress, but it was one she liked, and she was rather distressed that she had almost lost it.

Sparing a glance at her Neville, she noticed that he seemed defeated, and while she did want to teach him a lesson from this experience, she didn't really want to keep fighting with him over this. Returning to his side, she gently wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"If you really didn't like the dress that much, you could have just told me, you know? It's not like we can't afford to get me another one." He chuckled weakly, and she saw that her actual point had gotten through. "I suppose I can donate this one in the interest of research, but you will be buying me a replacement, understood?" Neville nodded, and returned her loving embrace.

"I really do apologize, Hannah. I just got so excited about the possibilities that I forgot I hadn't asked you at all. Please forgive me?"

Hannah smiled. "Of course, dear. But what possible reason could you have for feeding clothes to a plant, anyway?"

Neville blushed and mumbled something that Hannah couldn't quite make out. "I definitely hear the words 'edible' and 'fortune' in there, but you're going to have to speak up if you want me to understand you." Her grin widened, figuring that whatever Neville was up to had to be no good for him to have returned to this level of shyness.

Brave Gryffindor that he was, Neville stood tall, and told his wife very clearly what his experiment was intended for. "The plant I'm currently working with is known to try and duplicate the things it eats. While it doesn't always work, it seems to be more successful with natural materials. Therefore, I wanted to use your silk dress and see if it would be able to create a duplicate, preferably one that would be more vegetable than cloth. Because if I could create a more widespread method of making edible clothing, I could probably make a fortune on it, and at worst, I would be able to make our evenings together more exciting. There. Now you know. Are you pleased with yourself?"

As Neville's explanation went on, Hannah became more and more flushed. She was unable to speak immediately following his question, but she nodded quickly. She then carefully removed her dress, and handed it to him. He turned to leave, and had gotten as far as the door when a soft piece of cloth landed on his shoulder. He glanced at it, before his gaze travelled over to his now topless wife.

"If you're going to experiment, you should probably have a couple different kinds of fabric to test, shouldn't you?"

And experiment he did, a few hours later.


	30. Cravings

**A/N: I make no claims on the Potterverse, I just play in JK's sandbox when the moods strikes me.**

* * *

 **thom them** \- (v.) a slight craving for a delicious dish after you've already finished it; to be still hungry or thirsty because one hasn't had enough _[vietnamese]_

Many thought Ron Weasley to be a fool because he lived life in search of the simple desires. A warm bed, a filling meal, these were the things Ron craved, and when he found them he required little else for sustenance. It was a position that was not well understood by his Hogwarts classmates, and a position that throughly did not impress his teachers. Some might even have gone so far as to called him lazy, unmotivated, and just plain stupid. Those people missed the overarching point of it all, presuming the boy to be gifted at chess and nearly useless at anything else.

Did being able to transfigure a match into a needle help build a bed? Did being able to charm a feather to hover in midair make a meal any more delicious? Would being capable of brewing Felix Felicis ease him into a comfortable sleep at the end of the day? Certainly not, and that was where the teachers failed to understand just what made Ron tick. The tasks that failed to impact the things he craved in life, he couldn't muster up the ability to concern himself with. The more important things (transfiguring items into useful dishes and cooking utensils, charming his bed to hit just the right temperature and softness at just the right time, brewing additives to ensure that his food would always come out exactly as he desired it) Ron actually put time and effort into learning correctly. While he may never have said as much, Ron was well aware that he couldn't live at home forever, and would need to be able to do some of these things for himself in the future.

The last place anyone expected he would find a kindred spirit in his endeavors would be the house of the intelligent, and yet that's exactly what he found when he began to notice that Luna Lovegood was not at all the loony girl he had once known when they were much younger. Though the girl would often talk about creatures that no one had ever heard of, much less seen, Ron observed that most of these episodes would occur whenever Luna was particularly bothered by something. When she was perfectly at peace, she was much closer to the accepted definition of normal, albeit with a strong urge to consume copious amounts of puddings. The similarities were undeniable; when Ron felt well out of his comfort zone, he also resorted to actions he deemed to be out of character (often involving shouting and physicality), and when he was content, he was hungry (and vice versa).

Slowly, carefully, Ron absorbed more information about Luna, making sure that his initial impressions were correct or at least reasonably close. Only when he finally was sure that he had pegged her behavior did he make a move. Their first date into Hogsmeade turned many heads, but by their third date, the couple was hardly spared a glance. No one ever saw them making any grand gestures, and in fact most of their dates involved at least one stop in Honeydukes, but had very little else in common besides that.

The transition from friends to lovers passed so easily that most missed the signs that it had even happened at all. Only a sharp eyed Boy-Who-Lived realized that Ron was sending longing looks Luna's way, because they reminded him of how Ron looked after meals had been eaten and cleared away. As with those meals, when his simple pleasures were taken away from him, Ron tended to look quite a bit crestfallen. He had added another craving to his list: a warm bed, a filling meal, and a passionate embrace with a lover.


	31. Experience

**A/N: I make no claims on the Potterverse, nor do I have any experience with hiking through France, so this chapter is much shorter than it probably deserves.**

* * *

 **dérive** \- (n.) "drift"; a spontaneous journey on which the subtle aesthetic contours of the landscape and architecture subconsciously attract and move the traveler, encountering an entirely new and authentic experience _[french]_

Due in large part to his upbringing, Harry Potter was woefully lacking in wordly experience. While others took it upon themselves to teach him some of the ways of the world, Gabrielle Delacour presented her savior with a choice: she could show him the beauty of countryside, or she could give him an extensive crash course on astronomy so that he wouldn't look uninformed in front of the non-magical population. Given that even wizarding astronomy couldn't make Harry interested in having classes on the stars, he jumped at the chance to see what the world looked like outside of the strictures that had been forced upon him in his early years.

Of course, he would still be learning about the stars, but with a bit more direct observation and less book reading. "Just the nature of hiking", he was told. It was about this point that he realized Gabrielle's 'choice' had been anything but, though he considered hiking alongside his attractive blonde travel guide a fair price to pay for his knowledge.

Hiking as a wizard was less difficult than hiking as a Muggle (weightless backpacks and the ability to apparate past obstacles tends to help), but Harry had vetoed hiking through the mountainous portions of southern France. "I've never hiked anywhere in my life, but I'm pretty sure mountains aren't exactly on the beginner's list," was his reasoning, and though she let out a grandiose sigh, Gabrielle relented. 'Perhaps next year', she thought.

Her plan called for them to begin in Paris, head generally south, make a quick side trip to Bordeaux ("you must try the wine, Harry, that is half the fun of visiting France!"), before finishing up in Toulouse. Since there was no gallivanting Dark Lord about, nor any real reason to rush back to Britain, Gabrielle had conservatively budgeted an entire month for their excursion. That would give them plenty of time to stay a while longer in the places she hoped Harry would come to love, while also letting people have some idea when to expect them back.

Given that Harry's prior hiking/camping experience had been the Horcrux Hunt, he was always going to enjoy this more. Nature's beauty held a great appeal for him; having spent most of his life in a city, he had only seen the full night sky at Hogwarts, and even then, gazing at the stars was not something he embarked on for pleasure. Quiet meals and conversations under the stars became the norm for their trip, and Harry discovered that simply following the countryside wherever it took them was just as much fun as following Gabrielle's planned route.

By the time they reached Toulouse, Harry was sorry that their journey was nearing its end. While he wouldn't admit it to Gabrielle, he was even sorry that they hadn't tried to go through the mountains. A final meal was enjoyed by the pair, and a heartfelt embrace accompanied by whispers of "we'll have to do this again sometime" put a bright smile on both friends' faces. It would be nice to get back to Britain, Harry realized, but he might have to take journeys like this with more of his friends in the future.

"Some things you just need to experience for yourself, you know?"


	32. Puddles

**A/N: I don't own the Potterverse. Also, more of a drabble than a full fic this time; I really just didn't know where to take this prompt.**

* * *

 **pluviophile** \- (n.) a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days _[english]_

Magic could do many amazing things; it could keep you warm during the coldest winter, it could keep you dry during the most drenching rain, and keep you protected during the most blistering sun. The thing magic could not do is stop the weather from occurring at all. So while you would be warm, it would still be bitter winter. While you would suffer no burn, the sun would still beat down upon you. And while you could very easily stay dry, magic would not stop the rain from falling upon you. So, like most in the Muggle world, when it rained, the magical stayed inside.

Well, most did, anyway.

"Sometimes, you just have to splash in the puddles," she thought. If it hadn't been her day off, she would have had to patrol the Alley in the rain anyway. Of course, the particularly stodgy visitors to Diagon would have looked down their noses at an Auror jumping in puddles during their patrol shift, so Tonks was perfectly happy doing so off duty instead. No one paid much mind, since she had wisely chosen to look a bit younger for this excursion, freeing her from the ever disapproving "Aren't you too old to be doing that?" crowd. A 20-something acting like a child was concerning; a teenager doing the same was so commonplace as to be easily ignored.

Once Diagon had worn out its fun, she proceeded into Muggle London, and found infinitely more splashable puddles; a consequence of not being able to perfectly control where the rain falls, she assumes. Only her stomach calling for food broke up her play, and even meals were only a brief respite. The rain began slacking off as she finally headed back to her flat, as though it knew their time together was coming to a close. The last few drops fell as she appeared outside her building, and she blew a kiss to the clouds, thanking them for her day.


End file.
